The Boneyard
by Clell65619
Summary: The resting place of stories that started out strong before the muse that was driving them took off for parts unknown. All of these are up for adoption, if they appeal to you, and you think you can make them work, have at it. Let me know when you publish, so I can see how they look when they grow up.
1. Intro

The Boneyard.

A place where stories that died can be reviewed. All of them are open for adoption


	2. Rise of the Dark Lady

**A/N: I don't own Harry Potter and wouldn't particularly care to. I would like a rental agreement with option to buy for Hermione Granger. A short term contract with Nymphadora Tonks wouldn't be turned down. A Long-term agreement with Luna Lovegood would probably be a whole lot of fun. Any time Padma Patil wants to open negotiations, call me and oh for a weekend with Fleur. Oddly Lavender and Padma's sister (despite being her twin) Parvati do nothing for me…**

 **A/N2: This is a mix of genres, first and foremost it is a 'Fix It' story. There are also hints of 'Muggles do it better' and more than a little crack with the BDA being one of the most feared organizations on the planet, along with a bit of fun with Tom Riddle's 'You Know Who' pseudonym.**

 **This is one of those stories that started strong, but then just faded to nothing after about 10k words.**

 **Rise of the Dark Lady**

Philip Granger stood in the door way to his daughter's bedroom and watched as she suffered through the latest nightmare.

Drugged into unconsciousness by her medicinal potions regimen, the poor girl still relived that horrible night she could barely speak of even now, almost three weeks later. His anger growing as he watched his precious daughter toss and turn in obvious terror as she experienced the running battle yet again.

Carefully, Granger closed the door and returned to his bedroom, where his wife waited.

"Not any better?" Elizabeth asked, looking up from her book as he entered the room.

"Not at all," the Dentist admitted, his jaw tightening in anger at what had been done to his only child. "You were right. I should have put a stop to this nonsense in her first year."

"No," she disagreed, "you were right. Our little mouse has blossomed at that school, growing in ways I'd always hoped she would. She's no longer the little know it all who must be right about everything, who slavishly follows every figure of authority, she's a courageous young woman willing to risk danger for what is right."

"And that willingness to fight brought her into conflict with adults who attempted to kill her," Philip noted, opening his wardrobe and pondering his tie selection for what was going to be a most important meeting.

"Which is why, now is the time for you to step in," Elizabeth said, returning to her book.

"Quite," Philip nodded as he selected his favorite school tie. "I'll try the direct approach first, and if that doesn't work, I'll have words with a few of the lads."

Seeing him struggling, Elizabeth marked her place in her book and rose from her bed. She crossed the room to stand behind her husband of almost twenty years and tied his tie for him. "There you go," she said once she was finished, punctuating her words by kissing him lightly on the cheek.

"Thank you luv," Philip pulled his suit coat on and checked his appearance in the mirror. "If Hermione wakes, let her know I've gone out to tend to a minor chore."

"Of course," Elizabeth nodded. "No sense worrying her."

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

The Dark Lord Voldemort glared at his assembled Death Eaters. He had tortured a few of the minor Death Eaters to death earlier for minor crimes, though everyone knew the real reason was his anger over the failure of his inner circle to succeed in capturing the prophecy, but seeing as there were so few of the minor Death Eaters left, that was really a counterproductive exercise.

He really needed to have a recruiting drive. He would put Bellatrix on that.

The Ministry Justice system was its normal revolving door, so after a few political donations, all of those captured at the Ministry had returned to the fold.

"My friends," he said, his voice echoing throughout the vast ballroom of Malfoy Manor, "The Ministry has been forced to admit that I have returned, fortunately, our groundwork is done, we are ready."

Voldemort moved to a map of Diagon alley. "We will make ourselves known here." A long boney finger pointed to Ollivander's. "I want the wand maker captured, alive. Kill everyone else you see."

Before the Dark Lord could issue his next instruction a parliament of owls flooded in the open windows, each owl sought out an individual Death Eater and dropped a letter.

Without thought and out of habit, Voldemort snatched the letter dropped for him out of the air, his eyes widening when he felt the telltale hook behind the navel sensation of a portkey.

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

Voldemort's wand was in his hand before he finished spinning to a stop at the new location. He noticed with disgust that none of his Death Eaters had arrived in any manner of preparedness.

"Put the wand away boy," a man said, breaking his focus, "before I feed it to you."

Voldemort spun to face the speaker and was shocked to see that he and his followers had appeared before a raised dais. A raised dais that he recognized. His jaw dropped in shock and his blood ran cold. Not them. He was in no way ready to face them.

He and his Death Eaters had been called before the Council of Evil. The six overlords of the inhabited continents. These six individuals held the personal power of life and death over every person in their fiefdom.

The man who had threatened Voldemort was the Overlord of Europe, the man Voldemort had petitioned for access to Britain in the late 1940s. He was known, in the manner of Dark Lords, as _**'That Guy**_ '.

"My Lord," Voldemort called out as he knelt before the dais. After a heartbeat his Death Eaters emulated his actions. The Dark Lord struggled to hide his reactions to the collection of powers sitting at the dais before him. In addition to _**That Guy**_ , there was the enigmatic _**Who?**_ the overlord of Australia whose face and indeed even gender was unknown. _**Him**_ , the overlord of South America, known worldwide for his casual cruelty, and…

"You Know Who," _**That Guy**_ asked, using his guild name, "how much of an idiot are you?"

Voldemort looked up in shock, but recognizing that the question was rhetorical, remained silent.

"You have attracted attention of the wrong people," _**That Guy**_ continued. "Do you even know what you have done?"

"Of course he doesn't," the current overlord of Asia answered. This was a new face since the last time Voldemort had been before the Council, though he was aware of her. A woman from the Punjab known only as ' _ **Her**_ '. "I have had many reports of him from my agents at Hogwarts. He is provincial of thought, convoluted of plan, he schemes and plots against a school boy and consistently loses. His followers' children boast of his second coming to anyone who will listen. He is an idiot who leads fools who have sired morons."

"I said as much when you allowed him to attempt his conquest of Britain," the North American Overlord, a woman known as _**'The Other Woman**_ ' said from her place to _**That Guy**_ 's right.

"You did," _**That Guy**_ admitted. "We should have listened to you, it seems. You Know Who, when you attacked the Potter Boy, you also attacked a child with connections to an organization that even we respect."

"Oh, stop," a new voice said.

Every eye in the room fixed on the new speaker. Philip Granger paused to straighten his cuffs before continuing. "You're going to make me blush."

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

 _ **That Guy**_ gestured causing Voldemort and Antonin Dolohov to be magically dragged bodily from the group of Death Eaters to stand before the man in Muggle clothing.

"This is the Dark Lord known as You Know Who and the man who injured your daughter," That Guy intoned. "Will their deaths suffice, or will you require more?"

Philip Granger seemed to mull the question over for several seconds. "My princess has been suffering quite a bit," he temporized, "but I suppose it will suffice, I understand your organization has its own needs and procedures. I understand your man has some sort of method of coming back from the dead…"

"I assure you, Doctor Granger," _**Her**_ explained in a tone underlain with her terror of the dentist, " _ **You Know Who**_ 's soul anchors will not save him this time."

 _ **That Guy**_ nodded to _**The Other Woman**_ who responded with a wave of her hand. Instantly Voldemort and Dolohov burst into flame and began to scream. The pair, frozen in place, unable to escape their fates, took seven long excruciatingly painful minutes to die.

"Well," Granger said, removing a handkerchief from his pocket to lightly dab at his lips, "that was unpleasant. I trust that nothing like this will be happening again? If it does, I'll have to have a word with a few of the Lads and things will become… serious."

"I assure you Doctor Granger," _**That Guy**_ said nervously, "that there will be no repeat of the unfortunate misunderstanding. I'm sure that the late _**You Know Who**_ 's staff have learned from their master's painful demise."

"Painful?" Philip Granger asked with a small chuckle. "It is truly amusing that you would actually think _**that**_ was painful. Ah, the innocence of amateurs." The laughing man made his way to the chamber's exit before pausing. "You will remember to deal with that other favor I asked?"

"Of course," _**That Guy**_ assured him.

"Good man," the Dentist said, blinding them all with a gleaming smile.

The assembled Council of Evil breathed a sigh of relief when the dentist finally left their chambers.

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

Lucius Malfoy fought to keep his body under control. The Council of Evil. He was before the Council of Evil, an organization so dark that even his father had spoken of it in whispers.

And the Council was evidently so angry with his Lord and by extension, the Death Eaters that they had killed the Dark Lord? At the behest of a Muggle at no less? What was going on?

"Lucius Malfoy," the wizard sitting at the center of the dais said. I am the Dark Overlord _**That Guy**_. You were the Dark Lord You Know Who's second."

"I am to be the new Dark Lord?" Lucius gasped.

"No, you most certainly are not," the woman to That Guy's right snapped. "I am the Dark Overlady _**The Other Woman**_ , there will be no Dark Lord in Britain for at least a century. You and your foolish former Dark Lord have angered the dentists."

"The what?" Lucius asked intelligently.

"The dentists, fool," the other woman on the dais spat. "I am the Dark Overlady _**Her**_. The dentists torture Muggles."

"Pfft," Bellatrix sniffed from Lucius' side. "Who doesn't?"

"Do the Muggles pay you outrageous sums of money to torture them?" _**That Guy**_ asked. "Do they schedule torture sessions six months in advance and show up early so as to fit into your schedule? Do they present you with their children to be tortured with metal appliances in their mouths for months on end? Be silent Bellatrix Lestrange before you suffer the same fate as your idiot Dark Lord… or perhaps I'll give you to the dentists."

"Your son is the simpleton who has been publicly announcing the return of your idiot Dark Lord and antagonizing the daughter of a dentist, Lucius Malfoy," The woman called _**Her**_ pointed out. "You will ensure he corrects his behavior and that he welcomes the girl to magical society."

"A Malfoy is to welcome a… mudblood?" Lucius asked in tones that did nothing to hide his disgust at the idea.

"Perhaps," _**The Other Woman**_ suggested darkly, "your wife would be better suited to teaching such a lesson to your idiot son. Perhaps you and the rest of _**You Know Who**_ 's followers are too far gone to be salvaged."

"We will not have an organization as dedicated to the infliction of pain as the British Dental Association be made our enemies," _**That Guy**_ declared.

"I have agents at Hogwarts, Lucius Malfoy," _**Her**_ declared. "I will know if your idiot son disobeys our directives… likely before you do. Before you bring us into conflict with the unspeakable horror that is the BDA, the Council will exterminate all of your families to the last member. Remember that."

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

Hearing her husband enter their bedroom, Elizabeth Granger turned on her bedside lamp. "I couldn't sleep," she explained. "How did it go?"

"It turns out that they are an understanding and eager to please group," Philip said toeing off his shoes and loosening his tie. "I didn't even need to call in the lads. I did schedule a few appointments however. It seems that a common feature of magical organizations is appalling dental hygiene."

"Most organizations can be made to see the light," Elizabeth nodded, "once their mistakes are explained to them. Come to bed."

"Yes, dear," Philip said, as he finished removing his clothing and slid between the sheets.

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

On September first, Hermione Granger passed through the barrier of Platform 9 ¾ at a brisk walk, pushing her school trunk and Crookshank's carrier ahead of her on a baggage cart in heady anticipation of her 6th year. Immediately two hulking forms appeared on each side of her.

"We got that, Mz Hermione," Vincent Crabbe rumbled as he took control of the cart.

"Yeh," Greg Goyle agreed with a wide smile displaying a horrific need for her parents' services. "Wut he sed."

More than a little confused by this highly unusual display of helpfulness from Draco Malfoy's enforcers, Hermione could not stop herself from asking the obvious question. "What's going on?"

"After the unfortunat' misunderstandin' at the Ministry last May," Crabbe said in an obviously rehearsed statement, "we decided tha' you was be'n treated horri… horri…"

"Real bad," Goyle suggested.

"Yeh, real bad," Crabbe nodded happily. "You was be'n treated real bad, so we gonna, Greg 'n Me, make sure nobody does that no more."

Hermione wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so she decided to simply go with it and follow the two behemoths to the train, carefully palming her wand as she did so. She was a trusting young woman, but she was no one's fool.

Crabbe and Goyle led her to the carriage where she usually sat with Harry and Ron, which they knew as well as she did. Once trainside, Goyle shouldered her trunk and picked up Crookshank's carrier.

"I've got this Mz Hermione," he declared happily.

"Thank you Greg," Hermione said, deeply confused as she followed him onboard, accepting Vincent's hand in assistance to board the train. Once she reached her regular compartment, she found that Greg had place Crookshank's carrier on one of the seats and placed her trunk into the luggage racks above the seats.

"If you need anyfin," Vincent said as Greg joined him out in the passageway, "me 'n Greg'll be out here."

Hermione watched as Vincent closed the door and the pair took up positions on either side of the door, just as they had used to do when guarding Draco Malfoy.

Taking advantage of the privacy, she waved her wand, causing the windows of the compartment to go opaque. Once her privacy was ensured, she quickly pulled on her school uniform, making sure her prefect badge was clean and in position. Sitting down, she then allowed the windows to return to transparency and released Crookshanks from his carrier. The orange feline obligingly flowed onto her lap. "Crooksie," she whispered. "I have no idea what's going on, but I think this is going to be a very weird year."

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

After fifteen minutes there was a knock on the door of the compartment. Hermione looked up as Crabbe slide the door open. "Mz Hermione," he said, "Potter and the Weasleys to see you."

She wasn't sure what he expected her to say about that. "Should I let 'em in?" he asked.

"Yes please, Vincent, let them in."

The huge boy nodded happily and stood aside from the door, allowing Ginny to enter, and her girlfriend was followed by Ron and Harry. As soon as Harry was through the doorway, the door slid shut and Crabbe took up his position again.

All three of her friends were clearly confused. Ron perhaps most of all. "Hermione?" he asked, "what the hell?"

"Language Ron," Hermione corrected automatically. "and I have no idea. When I got to the platform, Goyle and Crabbe were there, telling me that I had been treated badly and that they were going to make sure it didn't happen any longer."

"Goyle and Crabbe?" Harry asked, looking to the door where the pair still stood post. "Seriously?"

"Would I make something like this up? It's already shaping up to be an odd year. But enough about my odd life, how are you Harry?"

"Better," Harry said running his hand through his hair. "I started to crawl inside my own head with Sirius and everything when I got to my relatives' house, but Ron, Ginny and the Twins showed up and kept kicking my butt until I cheered up."

"You went to Harry?" Hermione asked the Weasley siblings in surprised. "But Dumbledore said…"

"If the Headmaster had told me to stay away from Harry at school, where he can actually tell me what to do, I'd have ignored him," Ginny sniffed.

"The summers are our time," Ron agreed. "Mum read us the riot act but I think she approved, really. I know Dad did, he did his 'I'm very disappointed in you, good job' thing when Mum wasn't listening."

"I was going to do the same thing," Hermione admitted, "but I didn't want to get you into trouble. Then my parents all but grounded me because I got hurt at the Ministry, so I couldn't get away."

The Express jerked as it began to move.

"Well, I guess that means we need to go to our Prefect meeting," Hermione pointed out.

"Are you bringing your escorts?" Ron laughed.

"Oh, goodness. I hadn't thought of that. Rising from her seat she opened the door. "Greg, could you and Vincent come in here please?"

"Yes Mz Hermione?" Goyle asked when he and his friend crowded into the compartment.

"Are you two intending to escort me all day?" Hermione asked.

The pair nodded enthusiastically in response. "I'd thought as much. Look, I have to go to the Prefects' meeting, and you can't come."

"We always went wit' Draco…" Goyle started.

"I am not Draco Malfoy," Hermione said with finality. "And I still don't know what this is all about, but we'll be talking about it after the meeting. I want you two to stay here. Inside the carriage, not out in the passageway, all right?"

"But, Mz Hermione…" Crabbe protested.

"Sit!" Hermione commanded.

Instantly the pair sat down on either side of the doorway, looking so very forlorn. The looks on their faces tugged at her heart, causing Hermione to sigh. "Ron, Ginny and I have to go to the Prefects' meeting, I'd appreciate it if you'd keep Harry company, all right?"

Again the pair nodded. Hermione paused for a moment, then went to her purse and pulled from it an orange cylindrical package far too large to have been contained within the small bag.

"Would some biscuits make it easier to wait?" she asked.

Vincent accepted the package with a nod.

"Digestives?" Ron asked. "What are they?"

"Ron, we need to go," Ginny said, opening the door and leading her brother out into the passageway.

Hermione offered Harry an apologetic shrug and followed the siblings out of the compartment.

"You never get me biscuits," Ron said plaintively.

"Shut up, Ron," Hermione sighed.

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

The compartment was silent for several minutes other than the steady crunching of Goyle and Crabbe working their way through the sleeve of biscuits.

It finally got to be too much for Harry. "So," he said, desperate for any conversation. Then he flashed to the Cannon's season opener that Ron had insisted they listen to on the Wizarding Wireless the night before. "How about those Bats?"

"Rebuilding year," Goyle said as he paused from the biscuit he was working on.

"Yeah," Crabbe agreed. "Good keeper, lazy seeker, best beaters in the league, but their chasers… "

"Last night against Chudley wuz prubly the only win this season," Greg said as the door slid open, surprising all three of the boys.

"Hello Harry," Luna said in a sing song tone. "Hello Gregory, Vincent." If Luna was surprised to find Draco's bookends in a compartment with Harry she didn't seem to find the need to mention it.

"Hello Luna, how was your summer," Harry asked the quirky blond as she took the seat between him and Goyle.

"Utterly lovely and more than a little perplexing," she said. "Even now the Quibbler is trying to sort out what has happened, and inform our readership of the new reality. Do you have any insight on our new Dark Lady?"

"New Dark Lady?" Harry asked.

"Why, Hermione of course," Luna explained.

"Hermione?" Harry asked.

"Yes Harry," Luna confirmed.

"Hermione Granger is a Dark Lady?" He asked again.

"Of course she is, Harry," Luna said with a shake of her head. "Don't you pay attention?"

Harry almost had this entire idea written off as the latest of Luna's odd ideas when he noticed Crabbe and Goyle nodding.

"Won't Hermione being a 'Dark Lady' cause problems with Voldemort?" He asked hoping to get the punchline to the joke.

"Considering Hermione had the nasty so and so killed," Luna temporized, "I would hardly think so."

"It t'wern't Mz Hermione wot had th' Dark Lord kilt," Goyle protested, "t'were her da."

"Gregory," Luna said with a disapproving frown, "Are you still doing that? Why are you still doing that?"

The large boy blushed. "I'm not sure what y' mean Mz Luna."

"Gregory," Luna sighed. "When you and Vincent were bound to serve the Malfoy family, acting the idiot made a certain amount of sense, given that Draco isn't the brightest Lumos in the wand and he hates anyone smarter than him. You will find that Hermione Granger, for all her faults, is quite the opposite. Once she's around you enough to see through your village idiot guises, she will be furious that you are wasting your potential."

Greg and Vinnie exchanged glances.

"Do you really think so?" Vinnie asked. "Can we actually achieve something in class?"

"Hermione is likely to give you both hell if you don't," Luna nodded. "She's the type of Dark Lady that expects her subordinates to be skilled, competent and thoughtful. Just look at Harry and Ron if you don't believe me. You can expect her to go over your homework assignments with you and point out your mistakes so that you can correct them before you turn them in, just like she does theirs."

"Wait, wait, wait," Harry said, interrupting, trying to get the subject off the crazy idea that he and Ron were Hermione's subordinates. "Voldemort is dead?"

Both Crabbe and Goyle nodded.

"And Hermione's dad did it?" he asked.

"More had it done than actually did it himself, but yeah," Crabbe agreed.

"And because of that, Hermione is now a Dark Lady and you're her… thugs?"

"Well… yes," Goyle nodded. "The elder Granger can't be a Dark Lord because he's a Muggle, so it falls to Miss Hermione. We have high hopes… Though, truth be told, as far as job titles go, I've always preferred 'minion'."

"I disagree, minion is so plebian. 'Hooligan' has a certain classic appeal," Crabbe argued.

"Does this mean that Hermione is going to be trying to kill me this year?" Harry asked, surrendering to the insanity.

"Oh, no," Crabbe said with a shake of his head. "You and the Weasley family are on the Do Not Annoy list as well. And a good thing too."

"Yeah," Goyle agreed. "Bellatrix Lestrange didn't take the Dark Lord being killed very well. She couldn't find Miss Hermione or her parents, so she decided to take it out on you."

"My dad and Pansy's Mum were on watch that afternoon, and they caught her and the other Lestranges and turned them over to the ministry," Crabbe explained. "They're all in Azkaban again."

"There's an excellent write up about the encounter in tomorrow's Quibbler Harry," Luna noted. "In case you're interested in the details, I mean. On an unrelated note there's also a story about the horrible and untimely death of the Ministry's undersecretary in charge of the Dementors."

"That had nothing to do with you or Miss Hermione," Crabbe said.

"Her 'educational' decrees weren't popular," Goyle noted. "Not even among the Slytherins, whom she supposedly favored. Lowest DADA scores in a century, except for the participants in your covert study group. To say parents weren't pleased would be something of an understatement."

"So, now I have Death Eaters… protecting me?"

The door slammed open and an irate Hermione stormed into the compartment, flinging herself into the seat across from Harry and staring out the window in an obvious fury.

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

Harry knew he should say something to his friend, but her noticeable anger caused him to hesitate. Ron standing in the passageway leaning against the outside window to keep himself from collapsing in laughter really didn't help.

"Hello Hermione," Luna said, producing a notepad and self-inking quill before continuing, "could I possibly interest you in an interview with the Quibbler about your impending reign of terror?"

"I," Hermione ground out through clinched jaws, "am not a Dark Lord."

"Of course you're not," Luna said, leaning across the aisle to pat Hermione's knee. "Dark Lords are men, usually ones who have emasculated themselves through dark rituals. Your proper title would be 'Dark Lady."

Luna paused for a moment before continuing, "You haven't done anything to your reproductive system have you? While it is traditional among Dark Lords, it never really caught on among Dark Ladies."

"Luna," Harry whispered, "you're not helping…"

"I'm not supposed to be helping Harry," Luna said in her normal conversational tone. "As member of the Press, it is my responsibility to be neutral, objective, and nonjudgmental."

"Harry," Ron giggled as she stumbled into the compartment, struggling against his laughter. "Have you seen any of the Slytherin girls?"

"It's not funny Ron!" Hermione snapped.

"What isn't funny?" Harry asked, knowing that he shouldn't ask but anything that had Ron laughing that hard was likely worth knowing.

"The Slytherin girls…" Ron laughed, losing the ability to speak for a few seconds. "The Slytherin girls… they've… they've…" it was no use, he slid off his seat into the aisle, laughing incoherently while Hermione glared at him murderously.

"What did the Slytherin girls do that was so funny?" Harry asked imploringly.

"I'm not sure what Ronald found so funny, not many of the girls in Slytherin have much of a sense of humor," Luna noted. "Oh, but several of them have adopted a new hair style over the summer, one that honors the new Dark Lady."

"I am NOT a Dark Lady," Hermione insisted.

"It doesn't really do much for most of them," Luna continued as if Hermione hadn't spoken. "But Pansy… I must say, the bushy look really suits her."

"Bushy!" Ron giggled from the compartment floor. At least until Hermione kicked him. Several times.

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

Albus Dumbledore's eyes narrowed when he spotted Hermione Granger being escorted into the Great Hall by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, with a clearly concerned Harry Potter and an even more clearly amused Ron Weasley trailing behind. The sight of the Slytherin pair having apparently shifted their allegiance to the Granger girl seemed to lend credence to the story Severus had been telling since he had returned from a Death Eater meeting reporting that the Dark Lord was no more.

Of course the Lestranges being turned over to the Aurors by Augustus Crabbe and Millicent Parkinson for attempting to attack Harry Potter at his Uncle's home had already served to confirm his Potion Master's tale. It struck Albus as being particularly odd that Severus showing no interest in the number of young women in his house who had seemingly decided to emulate Miss Granger's hair style. That was just the sort of thing Albus had come to expect to drive Severus into a rant.

Albus directed his attention to the Slytherin table, where so many of the young women were suddenly emulating Miss Granger's hair style.

Did this sudden mass change of coiffure mean something? Was it important? He would need to speak with Minerva about that. The minds of young women had never been understandable to him.

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

The Welcoming Feast completed, the serving platters and dishes had disappeared, the Headmaster finished his welcoming speech, and was about to release the students to their prefects when he was interrupted in a most unexpected manner.

"Headmaster," Severus Snape said, "if I may address the students?"

Albus really was not sure what to make of this. Other than that horrible woman Umbridge the year before, no member of the staff had ever asked to address the students at the welcoming feast. Still, Severus would not be asking without a good reason.

"Of course, students, your attention, if you please. Professor Snape."

"Over the holidays," Snapes said in his normal sneering tone that carried to every corner of the Great Hall, "it was pointed out to me that I lacked certain… attributes of a successful teacher. It was also suggested that I might be treating some students… unfairly."

Severus paused for a moment while the students and staff digested this announcement. Albus was mildly surprised to see that not a single student was surprised in the slightest by either of the Potions Master's points.

"As such, I have decided to tender my resignation, effective immediately."

The room erupted into chaos with those words. Albus blinked away his surprise at Severus' unexpected resignation as the Gryffindors rose to their feet and began applauding. He would have to speak with them about that.

"I have contacted my predecessor, Professor Slughorn, who has agreed to take my place for this school year. He arrives in the morning."

Again Albus looked out over the students, many of whom appeared to be only seconds away from a massive celebration, only to have Severus continue. "And finally, I would like to recognize the change of status of Miss Hermione Granger, and express my hope that she accepts my apologies for how I have treated her over the last five years and that she isn't moved to use her new position to enact bloody vengeance upon me."

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

"Susan," Hermione protested, as she allowed herself to be pulled along toward one of the castle's many 'unused' classrooms. "I don't have time for this. Our N. E. W. T.s are only two years away, and I am scandalously behind in my revision…"

"There are somethings you need to make time for Hermione," the Hufflepuff explained. "Greg, could you and Vinnie make sure we're not disturbed?"

"Of course, Miss Susan," Goyle said with a grin as he and his best friend took their normal position on either side of the door.

"The Slytherins want to have a meeting with their new Dark Lady and I need to keep an eye on you and your evil plotting as part of my DMLE internship for my Auntie," Susan explained as soon as the door sealed behind them. "If I'm going to get into the Aurors after Hogwarts, I'm going to need the work study credits I get from my undercover work in your evil organization. Nepotism only goes so far."

"I am not a Dark Lady, I don't have an organization, evil or otherwise, and how can your work be undercover if you tell me about it?"

Susan paused to look over Hermione's appearance. With a critical eye, she vanished an accumulation of paper dust the Gryffindor had picked up in the library, removed an ink smudge from her cheek and straightened her friend's tie. "Hermione, I'm saying this as a friend. Pull your head out. You know you're not a Dark Lady, I know you're not a Dark Lady, but a whole lot of people believe you are. You can beat your head against the wall protesting the unfairness of it all, or you can use it to your advantage."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"Did you enjoy being called a 'Mudblood'?" Susan asked. "Have you noticed that has suddenly stopped? Are you telling me that you don't enjoy seeing Draco Malfoy in his current state? Do you miss Snape? Hell, your two biggest fans are Vinnie and Greg, who came to you expecting to be little more than slaves and are thrilled to be allowed to actually achieve their dreams and not play act as idiots. All of this is happening because some very stupid people think you're capable of being evil."

"You said you were watching me for your Aunt, is she stupid as well?" Hermione asked bitterly.

"Auntie Amelia's job is to be suspicious of everyone and everything," Susan said soothingly. "Tom Riddle managed to gain his position of power because no one took him seriously when he started while in school, and Auntie is hell-bent on making sure that mistake isn't repeated. Before I talked her into my 'work study' fiction, her first inclination was to assign Auror Tonks to shadow you."

"Who?"

"I know that you know very well who she is," Susan laughed. "Tonks is anything but subtle. She said to tell you hello, and that she is far too busy house breaking her Wolfie to waste her time following a goodie goodie like you around."

"All of this is such a horrible invasion of my privacy," Hermione sighed. "And when you see Tonks, tell her I'll show her 'goodie goodie'."

"I'll do that," Susan laughed. "Now then, chin up, imperious attitude, your minions await."

"I hate you," Hermione said as she allowed herself to be pushed through the door toward her destiny. "All right. Tell the Slytherins I'll speak with them tomorrow. If we're going to do this, we need to stop by the Hufflepuff dorms."

"The dorms?" Susan asked. "Why?"

"If I'm going to be a Dark Lady, I need to recruit my most important advisor."

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

The meeting stretched on interminably.

Hermione was almost ready to commit herself to evil just so she could torture Pansy Parkinson into shutting up. The newly bushy haired girl was still droning on and on over organizational details for an organization that existed only inside her imagination.

It really stuck in Hermione's craw that her signature hair style looked really good on Pansy.

"And that brings us to the uniform designs for your Dark Legions, and of course, your Dark Mark," Pansy said, still bright eyed despite having wasted three hours of Hermione's life.

"My Dark Mark?" Hermione asked horrified. From the corner of her eye, she noticed that Susan was struggling not to laugh. Again.

"Yes, the design committee has several examples for your considerations. Daphne?"

Daphne Greengrass stood up. Unlike Pansy, Hermione's natural bushy hair did not suit the tall girl. It rather made it look like she was wearing a fright wig for some reason, and wisps of hair were continuously falling into her eyes.

"Our first thought for the Dark Legion Uniform was the classic mysterious robes and mask ensemble made famous by the Dark Lord Derkolm in 1622, adopting, of course, the Gryffindor color scheme," she produced a detailed drawing of a wizard in blood red hooded robes, with a golden belt and mask.

"No masks," Hermione said in spite of herself.

The assembled Slytherins blinked. "But… masks are traditional," Daphne pointed out.

"Masks," Hermione insisted, "are stupid. They allow outsiders to easily infiltrate your organization. If my people need face protection, let them use a shield. No masks."

Daphne looked doubtful, and then fearful. "I'm sorry. All my designs have masks."

"Don't worry about it," Hermione said, waving off her concern. "You were thinking traditionally, and there isn't anything wrong with tradition, unless it's tradition simply for tradition's sake. Show us what you've got, we'll ignore the masks."

"Uh, the next is a ceremonial uniform for the men in your Legion of Terror," Daphne said as she displayed a drawing of an exceptionally well-muscled man clad in a loincloth and a pair of leather straps across his chest in an X fashion.

"And what ceremony did you envision needing that uniform for?" Susan asked.

"Assuming we had men built like that," Tracey Davis sighed, "any ceremony we could think of."

"Yes…, well…" Hermione said, dragging her eyes away from the artwork, while wondering if it would be gauche to ask for a copy. "Perhaps it would be best to set out some guidelines for proper uniforms," maybe Susan was right, she mused. With a bit of guidance, this might turn out to be a worthwhile group. "I think we should forego any uniforms based upon Nazi storm troopers, Roman foot soldiers, Mongol hordes or former magical overlords. All of them were eventually defeated and I want my Legions of Doom to have a more positive mind-set."

Daphne looked like she was going to protest, but before she could Hermione continued, "And I would like everything to be in bright, cheerful colors, as that will throw our enemies into confusion. You might consider consulting with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil."

"Moving on," Pansy said as a dejected Daphne took her designs and retreated back to her seat, Millicent will present our preliminary designs for your Dark Mark."

Millie Bulstrode took her place at the head of the table and without introduction began her presentation. "Everyone is familiar with the Dark Mark of the last Dark Lord," the large girl presented an image of the all too familiar Snake intertwined with a Skull. "This is of course unacceptable as it was the mark of a failed campaign, and one personally offensive to our new Liege Lady."

Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes at that. The Slytherins as a group seemed to think that mindless flattery was required at every turn.

"The traditional Dark Marks tend to be violent or at least phallic in nature, that didn't seem to be appropriate for the new Unending Regime, so I decided that our new marks should announce the implacable strength of femininity.

The first image presented was a massive cliff face facing a storming sea. "This is my first suggestion, symbolizing the feminine ideal of strength during adversity."

Hermione nodded in spite of herself. That one was pretty good.

The next image was the classic Venus symbol crossed with a wand.

"Not bad," Hermione nodded.

"I only have one more," Milly said in an embarrassed tone, "and I'm not sure it really fits."

The image changed to a black and white kitten with its front left paw raised.

"A kitten?" Daphne asked.

"I like kittens," Milly admitted.

"What do you think, Karen?" Hermione asked the young girl at her left.

"I like kittens too," the first year admitted. "We can always say it's a Nundu kitten to make it more frightening."

"Why is she here again?" Pansy asked, eyeing the young Hufflepuff suspiciously.

"In my research of Dark organizations," Hermione explained, "they all seem to fail, not so much from their enemies, as to bad planning. To combat that, I have decided that all of our meetings will have a Hufflepuff first year in attendance. If he or she can spot an obvious flaw in our plans, we can fall back and make changes before we expend any treasure or energy toward our goals."

"That's… brilliant," Tracey said, clearly meaning it this time. "But why a 'Puff?"

"Simple practicality, really," Hermione explained. "A Slytherin would place his or her own personal ambition over the needs of the group. A Gryffindor could be equally blinded by his or her innate heroism, and go 'Hey, it's a Dark Lord!' and try to sabotage us. Don't even get me started on Ravenclaws, they're too smart for this job and would set out to prove it to us."

"Oh. And that leaves the 'Puffs," Tracey nodded.

"Exactly," Hermione agreed. "Nonjudgmental, loyal to a fault and worth every knut your pay them," Hermione leaned over to hug the beaming first year. "So, everyone wants a Nundu kitten on their left forearm then?"

"Well, no," Pansy said. "We've discussed this, and we believe that we've got a better place for the Dark Mark than on the arm. We were thinking that they might go better on the small of the back."

The room filled with silence for several seconds before Hermione spoke again. "There is no way in hell that a tattoo meant to symbolize me will ever be used as a _slag tag_."

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

Hermione stood before her assembled acolytes, wondering once again, precisely what it was her father had done that had resulted in her being in this position.

"All right, everyone," she began, "I'd like to start by saying good meeting, and then follow up with a few thoughts and try to answer a few of your questions."

Hermione paused to look over the group. All girls, mostly Slytherin, mostly her year, with a few from the years above and below. "First I'd like to say, I'm flattered by the new hair styles, but honestly, it's clear that many of you are simply miserable with them. I totally understand that, having lived with this mop my entire life. You don't need to keep them, unless you want to."

A palpable wave of relief swept through the room.

"I'd like to have some options for the location of our Dark Mark by next week meeting," Hermione continued, "so if the Design Committee can work on that, I'd appreciate it. Daphne, if you find the time, I was serious about speaking with Lavender and Parvati about your uniform designs, they've both got an eye for fashion and are planning on opening a consultancy after they finish school, I think you'll find their ideas helpful. There's no rush on uniforms, take your time, wait until you've got something you love, then show it to us. Okay, that's all I've got, who has questions for me?"

Tracey hesitantly raised her hand. "When do we start our tribute?"

"I knew I'd forgotten something," Hermione sniffed, digging in her pockets for a moment, before brightening and withdrawing a coin. "We're going to need a treasurer. Any volunteers?"

"I suppose I could do it," Padma said. "I keep the books for my father's business over the summer to give my Mum a break."

"Padma has volunteered," Hermione noted, "any objections?"

After waiting several second, Hermione continued, "With no objections Padma Patil is now the treasurer for the Dark Organization that is still without a name. Pansy, since you called this meeting and have been acting as the recording secretary are you willing to remain in that position until we have a full organizational meeting to select officers and committees?"

"I am," the Slytherin nodded.

"Excellent, remind me to set up a committee to select a name for our organization at the next meeting. Okay, contributions. I'm thinking to start with a galleon a month, per family should be adequate."

"A galleon?" Pansy gasped.

"Too much?" Hermione asked.

"The Dark Lord was demanding hundreds," Daphne explained.

"And he failed," Hermione noted. "I want to be clear on this: I don't want a tribute. Any funds we accumulate are not for me, they will be for the organization that I am evidently heading. Right now, we, as an organization, have no expenses. That may change in the future, but right now, we owe no one and we are owed by no one." She reached over to place a galleon coin in front of Padma. "And the contributions to the organization's coffers starts with me."

There was silence in the room as the assembled group digested the idea that a Dark Lady would contribute to her own funds.

"If anyone has trouble coming up with a galleon each month, talk to me, we'll work something out," Hermione continued, never noticing the stir she was causing. "Any other questions?"

"I…" Daphne hesitated, "I have one. What are your end goals? Immortality?"

"Oh, Merlin," Hermione sighed. "No. A thousand times no. I can't believe that anyone who ever put any serious thought into the idea ever truly wanted to be immortal. To not die, sure, but to live forever? That sounds like a nightmare to me. What I want is power."

"Power?" Susan asked, egging her friend on.

"The power to make things better," Hermione explained, fully aware of what Susan was doing. "Voldemort's attempts at obtaining power were wasteful and short sighted."

"How so?" Pansy asked, furiously taking notes.

"His way got people killed," Hermione pointed out. "Some Muggleborn and halfbloods, but for the most part, Purebloods, the group he was supposedly attempting to glorify."

"But if you're going for power," Padma asked, "won't your rise result in the same thing?"

"Voldemort's problem was he thought small," Hermione said. "I want political power. It will be the goal of our organization to place our people into positions of power in the Ministry, and with that power, make the changes that will guarantee us all opportunity and the chance to make things better than we found them. We won't do this through the power of the wand, but through the power of politics. We won't be raising an army to over throw the Wizengamot, we will, through the political process make the Wizengamot our own."

"So, you aren't intending for this to be a Dark Organization?" Millie asked, disappointment clear in her voice.

"I didn't say that," Hermione said with an evil grin. "It just seems to me that you can get away with doing much darker things, when you do them legally."

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

"Hermione," Harry said quietly, "Are you okay? You haven't been this busy since third year with the time turner."

Hermione collapsed onto the sofa in between Harry and Ron, laying back and going limp. "I know, organizational meetings, committees, conferences, it never stops. If I'd known how much of a pain forming a Dark organization was, I'd have stayed in bed."

"You'd be getting more of my sympathies if I didn't know you have been planning to do exactly this with Harry and me anyway," Ron grinned.

Hermione blushed in embarrassment at that. "I didn't know you knew about my plans."

"Of course we knew," Harry snorted, passing her an ice cold bottle of butterbeer. "The only thing that kept us safe from your plans was the constant threats to our lives."

"Voldemort saved us," Ron laughed reaching across Hermione to clink his bottle with Harry's. "How many people can say that?"

"Just us, mate," Harry agreed. "Fortunately, just when Hermione's dad offed the bastard, Hermione got a new set of minions so we're safe."

"I am going to put you both back on the Undesirables list," Hermione sighed.

"No you won't," Harry said, laying his head on her shoulder.

"You love us," Ron added. "And we tolerate you. You're the scary psychotic sister I've always wanted."

"Excuse me?" Ginnie asked as she sat down on the squashy chair across from the trio. "I seem to recall you already having a sister. In fact, I seem to recall being that sister."

Ron sat up straighter on the sofa and hurriedly crossed his legs. "Oh, come on Gin," he said hastily, "You're the scary psychotic sister I've always had. You didn't understand the context of what I was talking about."

"Context?" Ginny asked, an evil grin on her lips, "that's a big word for you big brother."

"Ron uses words," Harry pointed out as he handed Ginny a butterbeer, "and he knows what some of them mean too."

"What is this?" Ron asked plaintively, "pick on Ron day?"

"Since when have we needed a special day for that?" Ginny asked sweetly.

Hermione looked back and forth between the siblings in confusion. "I don't understand you two, I really don't. Why are all your brothers always so frightened of you, Ginny? I mean sure, your Bat Bogey hex is nasty, but…"

"You think we're all scared of the little psycho because of her Bogey hex?" Ron asked incredulously. "The twins taught her the Bogey hex to calm her down and get her to stop what she had been doing."

"What?" Hermione asked.

"When Ginny was five or so, we might have picked on her a bit," Ron admitted.

"A bit?" Ginny asked with a raised eyebrow.

"A bit, and you deserved it," Ron continued. "But Bill didn't see it that way, Bill was always much more protective of Ginny than the rest of us. One day, he caught Charlie and the Twins pranking her and he took her aside to teach her to defend herself."

"Good old Bill," Ginny said with a fond smile.

"Yeah, good old Bill," Ron said sarcastically. "He taught her how to defend herself against boys, never thinking that his sweet baby sister might be not be the angel he imagined her to be."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Bill taught Ginny how to defend herself against _**boys**_ ," Ron said again, emphasizing the last word.

"I am the world's leading expert in 40 different testicle based attacks," Ginny said with a side smile.

Harry winced and emulated Ron's crossed legs, while Hermione's interest suddenly piqued.

"38 different attacks, Gin," Ron sniffed, "don't exaggerate."

"I've learned two more since the school year started," Ginny explained. "Wanna see?"

"Bloody hell, no!"

"Ginny," Hermione said tentatively, "I know the Weasleys are a historically Light family, but could I possibly interest you in a position in an entirely legal Dark organization?"

"What would the position be?" Ginny asked.

"Enforcer."

"Intriguing," Ginny said.

Ron and Harry watched in silence while the two girls wondered off to discuss Ginny's career opportunities.

"Ron?"

"Yeah, mate?" the redhead responded.

"You know how I said that I was thinking about asking Gin out?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "I don't think I'll be doing that anymore."

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

"Miss Granger?" The uniformed Auror asked.

Hermione stood holding the door she had opened when the doorbell rang, trying to remember if any of her magical visitors had ever rung it before. Always a first time. Perhaps her Christmas Hols wouldn't be completely boring.

"Yes?"

"Auror Lincoln," the older woman said to identify herself. "Director Bones of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement asked if you wouldn't mind coming in for a bit of a tour?"

A tour? That surprised Hermione. She hadn't heard of anyone being offered a tour by the DMLE before. Still, Mum and Dad would be out until late, some official holiday dinner they attended as part of the BDA, leaving her to fend for herself, so, why not?

"A tour sounds interesting, let me get my coat."

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

"You," Susan said quietly, "have made a mistake." She sat back in the chair facing her Aunt's desk. She had always loved her Aunt's office. It had been a place of honor and courage, a place where stories of great battles between the forces of right and wrong were told and retold. After today the office would lose a lot of its shine. "A huge mistake."

"There are times when lessons must be taught," Amelia Bones disagreed. "I have given Miss Granger every opportunity to walk away from this Dark Lady nonsense, and all she has done is build her organization."

"An entirely legal organization, with published membership, school sponsorship, and which, by the way, has done absolutely nothing wrong, Auntie Amelia," Susan pointed out. "In spite of all of that, you sent Hermione to Azkaban."

"For a visit," Amelia laughed. "It's an idea I've stolen from the Yanks. They call their program 'Scared Straight', but I think I'm going to call it 'Scared Light'."

"What you're going to call it is 'unmitigated mistake'," Susan sighed. "You persist in thinking that Hermione Granger is just little girl you can bully into behaving."

"She's not?"

"No, she's not," Susan said. "Have you forgotten that she and four others followed Harry Potter into an obvious trap last year? They ended up facing off against Death Eaters that would have had the majority of your Aurors pissing themselves, and she was still ready and willing to spit in Voldemort's eye if it kept him away from Harry."

"Susan," Amelia sighed, "I know she's your friend, but really, you can't possibly believe half the stories going around about Potter, Granger and the Weasley boy, can you?"

"Which of the stories should I discount Auntie?" Susan asked acidly, "the ones I directly witnessed, or the ones people I trust implicitly directly witnessed? The children of the surviving Death Eaters all claim that Hermione's father was instrumental in the fall of Voldemort, " Susan ignored her Aunt's reaction to the name and carried on, "if you recall your reasons for asking me to monitor her actions. Hermione did not start recruiting followers, she was content with guiding Harry and Ron Weasley through school. They came to her, and what did she do? Go on a rampage of crime and terror? No, oh horror of horrors, the Dark Lady Hermione Granger formed a club that could laughingly be called 'dark'. One committed to acts of public service and good grades, with the ultimate goal of its members taking their places in society as contributing adults with a common goal."

"Susan," Amelia sighed, "your naivety is endearing, it truly is, but I've been doing this job for quite a while now, and I know what I'm doing."

A paper airplane darted into the room and landed in Amelia's in basket. She opened the missive and smiled. "Miss Granger has arrived. I'm going to ask you to remain silent or leave. I cannot have your affection for the girl interfere with what I am trying to do."

"Oh, I'll be quiet Auntie," Susan assured her aunt. "I wouldn't miss this for the world.

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

"Madam Bones," Hermione Granger said in greeting once she was shown into the office of the Director of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Miss Granger," Amelia nodded. "I trust your visit to Azkaban prison was educational?"

"Oh, entirely so," Hermione agreed. "With whom do I file my charges?"

"Excuse me?" was all Amelia could think of.

"Madam Bones," the girl said, digging into the satchel she carried and extracting a thick bound book. "This is for you, I think you might find it interesting reading."

Amelia accepted the book, glancing at the cover for the title, _**European Convention on Human Rights**_

"I find myself confused, Miss Granger, what has this," she asked, gesturing with the book, "have to do with your visit to Azkaban prison or your question about filing charges?"

"As I said, you will find the _**European Convention on Human Rights**_ to be interesting reading," Hermione pointed out. "A quick review will show you that the mere existence of your Azkaban prison is a blatant violation of international law."

"Muggle law," Amelia pointed out.

"Madam Bones," the girl said in a condescending tone, "are you claiming that Magical Britain is a separate nation not subject to the laws of the United Kingdom?"

"Excuse me?"

"Are you claiming, that your oath, and indeed the oaths of all office holders of the Ministry isn't to the Monarch? Are you claiming that the Minister of Magic, who's other title is the Queen's Wizard, doesn't report to the Prime Minister?" the girl continued.

Amelia was taken completely off guard by this line of questioning. She struggled to reassert her authority. "Miss Granger, Witches and Wizards are not subject to the laws of Muggles."

"Excuse me, Madam Bones, but I believe you are incorrect," Hermione Granger said coldly. "Nothing in the Statute of Secrecy offers that immunity, nothing but generations of undeserved arrogance. You sent me to Azkaban in an incredibly transparent attempt to teach me a lesson. Congratulations, you succeeded. I had, of course, heard stories about that horrible place, but I never really believed them. After all, we're British. It's almost the 21st century. We're better than that."

Amelia found herself locking eyes with a clearly furious young woman. "Clearly I was wrong. Innocent people have been sent to that horrible place without trial. Innocent people have been sent to that place so that the Minister could be seen to have been _**doing something**_. And you, the supposed Director of Magical Law Enforcement stood by and did nothing. You go on about the Dark and the Light, allow things like that to happen, and pretend there is a difference. Explain the difference to me Director, tell me how you and Lucius Malfoy are in any way different."

Amelia shot out of her chair in fury. "You cannot come into my office and speak to me like this!"

"And what happens if I do?" Granger hissed. "Will I be sent to Azkaban? Will a Ministry appointed Undersecretary have me do lines with a blood quill? We've been there, Director. We've done that, we've bought the tee shirts. The 'laws of Muggles' as you put it are the laws of our Queen, to whom you swore your oath of office. The poor primitive Muggles have somehow managed to follow these laws since 1953. Surely we all powerful Wizards can manage to pull ourselves out of the 13th century to match their achievements, no?"

"This meeting is over," Amelia shouted. "Get out of my office."

"It is over," the girl nodded. "Just know this, Madam Bones, both the Prime Minister and the Queen will be made aware of your failure to abide by the Queen's laws."

"You expect me to believe that you know the Muggle Queen and Prime Minister?" Amelia asked.

"I don't know them personally," Hermione admitted, picking up her satchel. "But I do know their dentists. Susan, have a happy Christmas, I'll see you at school in January."

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

"Happy Christmas to you as well Hermione," Susan called after her friend as the door closed.

"Well, that could have gone better," Susan said as her aunt sat down behind her desk again. "If only someone could have predicted that the meeting might have gone like this. If only someone might have called it an 'unmitigated mistake' before it ever happened."

"Susan," Madam Bones said pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Oh, wait, someone did say that. It was me. If only someone had listened to me."

"Susan, that is quite enough," Amelia snapped.

Silence filled the room for several minutes. "You were right," Amelia admitted. "How did you know how she would react?"

"I've known Hermione Granger for almost six years now," Susan explained. "At first we thought she was a bit odd, hanging out with a pair of boys all the time, but she is our cohort's swot of all swots. Whenever anyone, from any house needs a concept from class explained, she is the one who can explain it. When you speak with someone that much, you end up talking about more than assignments. Hermione loves the magical world, she truly does. She loves all the things we do better than the Muggles, and is amused by the things we do the same."

"I see," Amelia nodded.

"What infuriates her, is the things we do worse than the Muggles. What she calls our 'fixation with the 13th century'. Centuries of unchanging robes rather than the far more comfortable, durable and frankly more attractive Muggle alternatives for example. As soon as you told me you had her taken to Azkaban yesterday I knew you had made a mistake."

"Why?"

Susan smiled, "I went to primary school with Hannah, remember? You and Da had a huge argument about that because homeschooling was good enough for your family forever, but Mum thought that seeing how the Muggles live would be good for me and Da always goes along with Mum. We use torture at Azkaban. It is so routine that even Light Families like ours think of it as normal. British Muggles don't use torture… At least they're not supposed to, it's part of how they see themselves. I knew that what you were trying to frighten Hermione with was going to make her insanely angry."

Susan stood up and crossed the office to the door. "I should be going. Mum asked me to remind you to bring your famous cheddar mashed potatoes for Christmas Dinner."

"I will," Amelia nodded.

"Bye, Auntie Amelia," Susan waved on her way out the door.

 _ **oooOOOooo**_

 **A/N: and here is where the idea stopped. So very many clichés went into this one… not sure where it could go from here. It's definitely a 'fix it' fic. Free to a good home, if you know where you want to take it. Just let me know.**


	3. The Orphans

**A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. Nor any of the other characters or situations associated with Harry Potter. Or much of anything else.**

 **The Orphans**

 **After the fall**

Two young women strode down the darkened street, staying out of the halos of light that the streetlights gave off. To a casual observer, the pair seemed somehow indistinct. More than one young man that had passed them in the street this evening had at first thought 'wow', only to pause in mid stride a few steps later wondering what it was he had just been thinking.

The pair had no time for the distractions that come from the attentions of the opposite gender.

Had anyone been capable of paying attention to the pair they would have seen the two women turn onto Grimmauld Place, making their way into a residential district gone badly to seed. The pair paused for a moment on the pavement between #11 and #13, and then seemingly disappeared between the two houses.

The pair made their way to the door of the unseen #12, the result of their first collaboration, the recast Fidelius that had once again removed the knowledge of the existence of the house from the collective memories of the world.

Padma Patil reached the door first, pressed her wand against the knocker on the door, and spoke the first part of the password the pair had added to the house in case the Fidelius was ever broken. "Always Pure." She said, evoking the Black family motto.

Hermione Granger laid the tip of her wand alongside that of Padma and gave the second part of the password. "My Arse."

The door swung open and the pair found themselves facing Dean Thomas with his wand drawn and at the ready.

"Why didn't you kiss Harry at the Yule ball?" the Muggle born wizard challenged Padma.

"Well it might have been because he was my sister's date, or it might have been that he was being a prat and refusing to dance," she answered. Dean always had the most… unique challenges.

"Thank you Padma." Dean smirked. "Alright Hermione, if that's your real name, when did you break off your rather torrid romance with Greg Goyle?"

"Dean, I am going to kick your arse, and then I'll spread your pathetic remains all over the Hotspur's pitch."

"Ouch. You're Hermione alright; no pureblood would know how to hurt a West Ham fan so utterly."

"Is everyone alright?" Hermione asked eyeing the wizard's paint spattered form.

Dean nodded. "Susan and Justin are in the kitchen trying to fix dinner, which is amusing unto itself. Hannah is in her room, she still won't talk to anyone, not even Sue. Seamus is in the library trying to hit on Luna who doesn't seem to understand what he wants. And Harry, well he's still in the attic, training."

"And what have you been doing?" Padma asked.

"Oh, I've been communing with our resident sentry." He gestured toward the oddly silent portrait of Walburga Black that was surrounded by a stepladder, several vials of what the girls recognized as paint, and Dean's brushes and palette. "She was being rather hateful, so I made a few modifications to her portrait."

The women moved to face the portrait to find that the woman's Victorian gown had been replaced by skin tight black leather S&M gear, and her mouth filled with what appeared to be a ball gag, and her face made up like a movie whore.

"That seems effective." Padma noted.

"A bit disturbing, but effective." Hermione agreed.

"She called me a wog this morning." Dean sniffed. "It turns out that this is a load bearing wall, so since we can't get her off the wall and we can't make the wall go away, this seemed the best way of dealing with the evil bitch." He turned back to the painting. "Who's a pretty girl then?"

Seeing the look on Hermione's face, Padma struggled not to laugh at the painting's struggles in her restraints.

"We'll leave you to it then." Padma said gasping to control the laughter. "Sue and Justin will need the food we bought." The Asian witch took hold of Hermione's hand and pulled her toward the kitchen while Dean continued to speak to the portrait.

"Maybe I'll add my Uncle Clayton to your portrait Walburga, so that you'll have company. Muggle Dock worker you know. Saw him coming out of the shower once, his John Thomas hung almost to his knee…"

The door to the kitchen swung closed, cutting off the one sided conversation, and Padma lost herself to her laughter. Hermione appeared to be disapproving for a few moments, then surrendered to her own case of the giggles.

"You've seen our resident artist's work I take it?" Justin Finch-Fletchley asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Merlin, I needed that." Hermione gasped, wiping tears from her eyes.

"Justin disapproves." Susan giggled from the range where she had three pots boiling. "I think he's jealous of her new boots."

"Watch it Bones." The tall boy huffed. He returned his attention to Padma and Hermione. "What did you get us?"

"Food isn't going to be a problem." Padma said producing the shrunken bags she carried from her jacket pockets. "Hermione showed me how to use a Muggle supermarket."

"Using a market isn't really all that hard Padma, I'm just glad for Harry's money." Hermione protested. "He had the foresight to move a big chunk of it out of Gringotts before everything went to hell when I was telling him everything was going to be alright." The brunette hung her head, the humor of a few moments before forgotten. "Nothing is going to be alright again."

She felt a pair of arms wrap around her. "Hermione," Justin breathed in her ear. "None of us believed that everything could go to hell as quickly as it did. Not even Harry. He was talking about the collapse of the Ministry taking months, not a week. But, he rescued me and Sue; he killed the Death Eaters that killed our parents. Harry saved us all, and he's going to kill every one of the bastards that did this to us. We'll be there, because we'll have his back."

"This is not your fault Hermione." Padma said joining the hug. "We'll get through this and we'll win."

The door opened and the upper torso of Harry Potter entered the room. "Good, you're here." He said spotting Hermione. "Dobby found some information for me." He said, pulling the invisibility cloak closed at the neck, leaving what appeared to be his disembodied head floating in midair. "I'm going out."

"Harry, you can't go out alone, let me grab a few…" Hermione began.

"NO!" The Boy Who Lived all but screamed. "I am not risking any of you. Stay here. I'll be back in a few hours." The hood of the cloak covered his head and all evidence of the raven haired wizard vanished from view, followed by a soft crack signifying that Harry had apparated away."

Hermione stood apart from the others in the room. "Damn you Harry Potter." She ground out. "Dobby!"

There was an immediate pop, and the oddly dressed elf stood before the four young magic users. "Yes Hermione Granger?"

"What did you tell Harry that has him rushing off alone?"

"Dobby found out what Harry Potter sir wanted to know," the elf said.

"And what did you tell him?"

"Harry Potter sir asked that Dobby not tell anyone what Dobby do for Harry Potter sir." Dobby said.

"Dobby I need to know so that I can help him." Hermione said.

"Dobby is sorry Hermione Granger. Dobby cannot tell you."

"Dobby," Hermione said, feeling her annoyance growing. "I'm ordering you to tell me what you told Harry."

"You is ordering Dobby?" The elf asked incredulously. "Harry Potter who Dobby would do anything for never orders Dobby to do anything. Harry Potter always asks that Dobby to try to do things after he asks Dobby to be safe, Harry Potter says Dobby's safety most important thing, but you order Dobby? Dobby is not slave. Dobby is free elf. You is bossy girl. You is worse than old Masters, you order Dobby with no right to order Dobby to do anything. You is not Dobby's mistress. You is never being Dobby's mistress. Dobby is free!"

Dobby popped away, leaving a mortified Hermione Granger, and three other magic users who were all shocked into silence.

"What have I done?"

-===oooOOOooo===-

"T'ank you for meeting wit' us Voldemort." The Dark Skinned Witch said.

The Dark Lord Voldemort settled into his raised throne. He looked down at the assembled magic users seated around the table before him, noting the ten who did not rise when he entered the room. Voldemort waited until all four of his inner circle Death Eaters had taken their places standing at his side, and then spoke. "Lord Voldemort."

"Lord?" an ancient wizard in flowing silk robes laughed. "My young friend, you may call yourself anything you want, but surely among such as this group we can be plain spoken and honest can we not? I am Tung-fang Shuo of China. We represent the Council of Elders. It has come to our attention that you seek to join our ranks, and we have come with… suggestions."

"Seek to join your ranks? Why would I do that? I am in need of no suggestions!"

"But you are young one," The dreadlocked woman who first spoke shook her head. "We have heard of your plans and goals, we suspect that your soul jars be doin' more than simply holding off death. Immortality be a completely different t'ing Mon."

"All too true." The man dressed as a noble from a 9th century Sultanate said. "You risk much and will survive only as long as your Horcruxes remain intact. If your enemies were to discover them, you would die. Our intelligence tells us that you have already lost two of your soul jars, and have lost control of two more."

Voldemort perked up at the suggestion that two of his Horcruxes had been destroyed and that two more were no longer where he had left them.

"Surprised you, did we?" The woman in a modern Muggle business suit said. "If you were smart, you would retrieve those soul jars that remain and reintegrate them to your remaining soul. Others have tried the path you are on, and their sanity suffered for it. Your fixating on the Potter boy leads me to suspect that you are further along that path than we thought."

"You dare?" Voldemort hissed. "Avada Kedavra!"

The aide standing beside the woman stepped between the oncoming spell and the woman, dropping to the floor as soon as the curse hit his body. Voldemort stood uncharacteristically stock still, stunned at the selfless dedication exhibited.

"You fucking bastard!" the woman spat as she rose to her feet. "Have you any idea how difficult it is to train and retain a competent assistant? Eh?" She looked over Voldemort's elite who were only then starting to draw their wands. "Ah, I suppose you don't know, not having ever actually done so." She waved her left hand and the four Death Eaters fell to the floor instantly dead.

Voldemort's eyes widened as he realized that whatever the woman had done had frozen him in place.

The woman approached him until they were nose to nose. "I'm going to explain this once boy. You don't want to fuck with us. We have real power. We are as far over you as you are over the average wizard in Diagon Alley. I clawed my way to power in the Yukon before your father filled his first diaper. You have no idea what we can do, while we know all about you." She turned her back to him and returned to her seat releasing him from the paralysis.

"You are lucky young one." The wizard that had identified himself as Tung-fang Shuo laughed. "A generation ago, Matilda would have killed you for daring to attack her. In addition, no, your soul jars would not have hampered her in the slightest. She is mellowing it seems."

The group smiled at the sound of the woman identified as 'Matilda' snorting.

"We exist," the wizard in the furs of a 19th century Russian nobleman said, "to guide newcomers to the proper use of their power. Given time, you will come into your powers, but for now, you are, shall we say, limited."

"We are the true power of the magical world, young one. We are the power behind the various governments that the sheep of the world believe protect them from the darkness." Tung-fang Shuo said. "But I wax poetic. You have potential young one. One day you may be welcomed into our ranks, but not today."

"What is it you want from me?" Voldemort asked. He had not, he reflected, reached this point by taking unnecessary risks. The man who had once been Tom Riddle knew how to bide his time and make his plans. He would learn what he needed to know about this 'Council of Elders' and then destroy it.

"Snake mon," The dreadlocked witch said shaking her head. "Weren't you listenin' when you were told of our power? We know dat you be plottin' against us, it be shining in dem red eyes of yours."

"He will learn Monica," the Russian said smiling widely. "He will learn. I for one find it soothing to see the energy and wild ideas of the young ones who come to us. What we want of you, Voldemort is that you take the time to consolidate your holdings before attempting to gain more."

"Why would I stop my conquest?"

"Because you have yet to completely subdue the peoples of Britain." The Wizard dressed as a Russian said quietly. "That, and if you or your minions run a single operation anywhere in Europe, I will kill you. You are allowed unrestricted operations in Britain. Europe is mine."

"Almost unrestricted operations in Britain, the Turk corrected. "There is a very important line that you must never cross."

This comment brought nods of agreement from the entire Council.

Voldemort decided to proceed cautiously. "What is the restriction you expect me to obey?"

"Simple really," the Canadian Witch said. "The Normals are off limits."

"Normals?"

"De Mundanes, mon. De ones wit' out de magics. What do de Brits call dem?" the Dreadlocked Witch called Monica asked the room.

"Muggles," Tung-fang Shuo laughed. "I've always like that term. You are to leave the Muggles alone. If your operations cause undue notice from the Muggle Authorities, you will be killed."

"Yeh Mon," Monica agreed. "Leave de Muggles alone. Dey's too many Mon, dey's got de weapons dat can kill whole cities."

"This is ridiculous," Voldemort spat. "You can't seriously expect me to cower in fear of the Muggles! I will conquer them!"

"It cannot be done my young friend," Tung-fang Shuo said. "If it could, it would have been done eons ago, when they were fewer and were armed with nothing more than spears and swords. Now there are just too many of them, and their weapons are far too powerful. They are to be left alone. These are laws that even such as we must follow."

-===oooOOOooo===-

Covered by his invisibility cloak, Harry Potter slipped into the darkest reaches of what had, until the conquest of Voldemort, been known as the Department of Mysteries. It had taken six weeks for Dobby to find out about this place, a place that new edicts had declared off limits to the House Elves that maintained the Ministry of Magic. Then it had taken Harry seven hours to penetrate the defenses to make it this far.

There he was. Neville Longbottom hung suspended off the floor, spread eagle, each limb tied off to point on the walls with ropes, his back arched over the surface of a huge wheel. Standing in front of his suffering friend was a Death Eater. Harry assumed that the man was the guard for this level, who instead of doing his duty and patrolling his station spent his time tormenting the prisoners.

No matter. The fact that he wore Riddle's mark meant he had to die.

Harry did not stun people or take prisoners any longer.

-===oooOOOooo===-

Something hit him on his chest.

It did not even hurt, but it did rouse Neville Longbottom's interest enough to fight his way through the pain to discover what was going on. The last of the Longbottoms forced his eyes to open and raised his head to look into the eyes of an unmasked Marcus Flint.

"Still with us Blood Traitor?" The larger man mocked Neville.

Neville thought for a moment, wondering if he wanted to try to spit on the Death Eater. Unfortunately his second day without water had left him too parched to be able to manage the saliva needed to that minor act of defiance.

"I thought," Flint continued, "that when your parents were brought here, and slowly killed in front of you, you would have told the Dark Lord what he wanted to know. But you didn't, did you Longbottom? That means that either you are a harder man than I have ever heard anyone give you credit for, or it means that you don't have the foggiest idea where Potter might be."

Neville was fighting to catch enough breath to issue a resounding 'fuck you' to the Death Eater Scum in front of him when Flint's head suddenly jerked backwards as if someone had taken a fist full of his hair and pulled back sharply, then a wicked looking knife being handled by a disembodied hand was buried into the underside of the man's throat and the blade driven up into the Death Eater's brain.

Flint thrashed and jerked for almost a minute before he was permitted to fall to the ground in death. Harry Potter allowed the hood of his invisibility cloak to fall backwards, making it appear that his disembodied head was floating in place.

"Harry?" Neville wheezed softly as his former classmate moved to cut the ropes that held him suspended against the wheel with the same knife used to kill Flint.

"I've got you Nev." Harry whispered as he lowered his friend to the ground. "I came as soon as we found you. I'll get you somewhere safe." Harry reached for his portkey.

"No," Neville said, grabbing on to Harry's hand with surprising strength. "Too late for me." Neville pointed to a black stain on his abdomen. "Dark Bastard infected me with a cursed fungus. Eating me alive."

"It's not too late Nev." Harry said blinking back tears at the thought of the death of another friend, all because he could not stop Riddle like that stupid prophecy said he had to. "Hermione and Padma are with us, they can figure out…"

"There's no point Harry," Neville whispered. "The fungus is in my gut. I'm already dead, my body just hasn't figured it out yet. I've got a day, maybe two. That's all." The fallen Gryffindor fought for his breath, and then continued. "Just leave me Flint's wand. I'll make it interesting for whoever finds me if I can."

Harry pulled a small canteen from his belt under the cloak, and pressed it into Neville's hand. "Drink a little, and then we're getting out of here."

Neville raised the canteen to his lips with shaking hands. Stale water had never tasted so good. "Vo...Voldemort is scared of you Harry. Terrified of what you might do. He's been down here every day, trying to force me to tell him where you are."

"Neville, we've got to go."

"I'm staying Harry. I'm going to kill someone for what they did to my mum and dad if I can." Neville pointed to the cell door to his left. "There's a girl in there. I've heard her crying. Take her. She got here five days ago, you can still save her." The young man slumped from the effort of speaking.

"Are you sure Nev?"

"Yeah. Go Harry, get out of here," the last of the Longbottom line said. "Do what you need to do to kill the bastards."

Harry pressed the fallen Death Eater's wand into his friend's hand, then rose from the floor and opened the cell door that Neville had indicated. The door was unlocked. Harry's frown deepened. The bastards were certainly sure of themselves. He pushed the door open.

She was huddled in the far corner of the narrow cell. Naked, used, and her face beaten beyond recognition. Harry knelt beside the girl and using his wand, cleaned her as best he could.

"Kill me."

As raspy as it was Harry recognized this young woman's voice before he recognized her battered face. "Tracey?"

"Come on you…" her body shook in a spasm of wet coughing. "Son of a whore, kill me. Aren't you man enough?"

Dear god, it was Tracey Davis. The last he had heard the entire Davis clan had been wiped out the day the Ministry fell. Harry wet his lips, and made a decision. He stunned the girl, and pulled her under his cloak with him after casting a feather light charm on her, one of the few such charms that would work on a living body. Harry lifted the girl and returned to Neville.

"Are you sure Nev? I can get you both out of here."

"I'm sure Harry," Neville wheezed. "Voldemort usually visits me before Flint gets off shift. He'll be here soon. Go on, get out of here."

Harry pulled the cloak over his head once again, and made his way out the way he came in. He fought against the tears that threatened to flow at the loss of yet another friend.

-===oooOOOooo===-

Arcturus Flint was the Commander of the new Ministry's guards, and as such had the responsibility and honor of accompanying the Dark Lord on his daily inspections of the building. This included tours of the detention facilities in the old Department of Mysteries.

This was one of the reasons that a Death Eater as junior as Arcturus' nephew Marcus had such an important shift. Arcturus saw much of himself in the boy, and was positioning him so that the Dark Lord would see him and keep the Flint name in mind when the rewards were distributed.

This is why finding his nephew's body lying in a pool of his own blood shocked Arcturus to his core.

Voldemort was immediately on guard at the sight of one of his Death Eaters lying dead on the dungeon's stone floor. The Dark Lord's wand seemingly just appeared in his hand as he scanned the room for threats.

"Harry said to tell you 'hi'," the Longbottom boy said from where he sat under the torture frame that should have, yet had not broken him. "He said that he'd drop by to kick your ass real soon, when he had more time and doesn't have something better to do." The dying boy lifted what Voldemort recognized as a canteen in a salute. "I just wish I was going to be here to see it."

In a fury, Voldemort lifted the boy bodily from the floor. "Where is he? Tell me!"

The boy coughed wetly, spewing bloody sputum over the front of Voldemort's robes as his body fought weakly against the fungus that was killing him. "Igneus Vir!" Longbottom spat as soon as he regained his breath.

Voldemort reacted to the indescribable pain of the bones in his right arm transmuted from calcium to phosphorus by dropping his Yew wand, as well as the last of the Longbottom clan and stumbling backwards in agony.

The oxygen in the tissue of his forearm reacted with the phosphorus that now made up his bones and burst into small gouts of flame. This caused the flesh to rupture, exposing more of the transmuted bone to the oxygen in the air. His entire forearm burst into flame and the curse continued to work its way up his arm.

Voldemort knew that he had only seconds to save his body. Fighting against the agony, he groped for his lost wand with his left hand. After a seeming eternity, his hand found the familiar handle and with a screamed severing charm cut off his own right arm at the shoulder, above the point the curse had reached. Rolling away from his flaming arm to douse the flames consuming his robes, Voldemort came to rest near the laughing Longbottom boy.

Voldemort raised his wand again and whirled it through the air incanting the spell that had given Wormtail his false hand the day of Voldemort's rebirth. A blob of what appeared to be molten silver hung shining in the wand's wake. Shapeless, it twisted in unison with the Dark Lord's wand movements until the silver mass shaped itself into a shining facsimile of a human right arm, which then fixed itself upon Voldemort's bleeding shoulder.

Voldemort's agony stopped abruptly. His breathing harsh and ragged, he raised his head and stared at the silver arm, now attached seamlessly to his shoulder. He flexed the shining arm at the elbow, rotated the shoulder joint and finally manipulated all the fingers, then, trembling as the adrenalin washed from his system, he stood from the floor to confront Arcturus Flint who was still staring at his nephew's body.

"Your lord is threatened and you make no attempt to assist him?" Voldemort thundered.

Flint took notice of what was happening around him for the first time since entering the room, and threw himself at his lord's feet.

"I am sorry My Lord, your reactions were so fast I had no time to react," he babbled. "It was the shock of finding my brother's son dead here in depths of your strong hold… I couldn't believe it."

"Believe it," Neville Longbottom laughed before drawing a painful breath. "Harry Potter goes where he will. Nothing you can do will stop him. He's coming for you Voldemort."

Rage flooded Voldemort's mind. "Avada Kedavra!" he spat ending the elder Flint's life. His wand swung toward Neville Longbottom.

"You've got a bit of an anger problem there Voldemort," the boy rasped. "No wonder you can't keep good help."

"Avada Kedavra!" the Dark Lord incanted again, ending the Longbottom line forever.

Alone in the room, Voldemort stood for a moment panting from the exertion of the last few minutes. Finally, he turned on his heel and exited the dungeon. He needed to find a healer to ensure that he had caught Longbottom's curse in time, and mostly he had to get away from the damnable grin on the dead boy's face.

-===oooOOOooo===-

She slid through the darkness in silence. Her prey was still unaware that she had been following him for more than an hour.

Idiot.

"Tonks?" a voice whispered from the charmed button on her shoulder.

"I'm busy," she breathed. "We'll talk later, and I told you not to call me that."

The person once known as Nymphadora Tonks was a woman on a mission. She was not an Auror any longer. That had been taken from her by Voldemort when he had taken the Ministry. She was not a daughter any longer. That had been taken from her when Bellatrix LeStrange had lead a team of thirty five Death Eaters to her parent's home and tortured Ted and Andy Tonks to death. She was not a wife any longer. That had been taken from her when Fenrir Greyback and his pack had ripped poor sweet Remus limb from limb in a moonlight-fueled rage.

She was not even a mother any longer. That had been taken from her when Severus Snape had paralyzed her, forcing her to watch as Greyback murdered Remus Lupin, and then turned his wand on her for almost four minutes of the Cruciatus curse before telling her that an abomination like her didn't deserve to die like a witch, and he crushed her throat under his boot.

It was only her Metamorphmagus skills that allowed her body to reconstruct her air way and save her life, though not that life of her unborn child. The exposure to Snape's Cruciatus left her poor baby dead in her womb and left Tonks herself teetering on the lip of insanity.

Through it all, she was certain of one thing. Snape had made a mistake. He had left her alive.

She buried her son with what was left of his father in a fallow field. It was while kneeling upon the freshly turned soil of the unmarked grave that Nymphadora Tonks died. In her place was Vengeance. She would kill them until one of them killed her.

Now she was tracking a Death Eater, hoping that this one would lead her to Snape, Greyback, or 'Auntie' Bella. The ten before this one had not. Not that it mattered. They bled, they screamed, and they died knowing that the spirit of vengeance had found them.

This one would too. So would whoever it was he was traveling to see. She froze in the shadows as he crossed a lighted street, his boots echoing on the cobblestones. He climbed the steps to a door, which opened when it recognized his magic. The door sealed with a wet sucking sound and she smiled to herself.

Breaking such a simple seal was one of the first tricks Mad Eye had taught her. She ghosted across the street and broke the seal charm with a jab of her wand. She entered the entry of the house silently and shrugged out of her cloak, exposing what was left of her Auror's armor. The Dragon skin clung to her torso like a second skin, her arms and legs were bare allowing her unrestricted movement. She relaxed her features and allowed her body to flow into her combat form.

Her arms lengthened and her forearms extruded a ridge of razor sharp bone with a four-inch long spike at each elbow. Her knees reversed and her feet morphed into hooves made for slicing into flesh. The pain was indescribable. She concentrated for a moment, ensuring that her center of balance was perfectly tuned to this form. There would be no mistakes, not this time. This time, it was the Death Eaters who would die.

She pressed herself to the wall outside the room voices came from. She had found her Death Eater on the first floor, sitting down to his evening meal with two others. She made minute changes to the structure of her ears to allow an image of the room behind the wall to build. It was a small room, with a table taking up most of the space in the room. Three men were in the room, though one was… different.

Did she dare hope?

The trio looked up when she entered the room, and her heart soared. Fenrir Greyback sat at the table, a raw bloody steak in front of him.

The wands came out, as they always did, and the Death Eaters were shocked, as they always were when the speed of her combat form allowed her to weave untouched between the light pulses of their spells. Her hands became blades of thick bone that she thrust into the chests of the man she had followed to this house and the man to his left, while her right leg kicked out to disembowel Greyback.

The two Death Eaters died as she bisected their hearts, but Greyback, even untransformed, had inhuman reflexes. He moved so that she missed him in her attack, though just barely.

Her smile grew wider. She would have been annoyed if the Alpha Werewolf had died so easily, so quickly. This was so much better. She was going to make him suffer.

Greyback it seemed was of a like mind. Ignoring his wand, he drew a long black fighting knife. She recognized that blade from her time in Auror training. Mad Eye's hold out blade. The bastard was trying to taunt her?

"Wondered where you were little Metamorphmagus," the Were taunted her. "Snape claimed he killed you, but I never really believed that the mate of someone capable of challenging me would go down so easily."

"Remus would have killed you if you hadn't hid behind your pack," she whispered. "What kind of Alpha is a coward who hides from challenges?" her hands changed from bone blades to hands again, each finger tipped with a razor sharp talon. "That's probably why you use so much of the bane; for fear that the wolf would forget to hide."

Predictably, Greyback charged at that challenge of his Alpha status. In a blink, he was on top of her, and she would not have had it any other way. His blade bit deep into her belly before the handle snapped off, her claws shredded his abdomen, freeing his internal organs to spill from his body and cover them both.

Still they struggled together, neither capable of landing a blow that would instantly kill the other, each knowing that they would be at each other until one of them bled out.

It took nine minutes for Greyback to die. The part of her mind that still relied on her Auror training registered surprised at this; she had thought it would be much quicker. She pushed the Were off her body and struggled to her feet, relaxing her combat form and trying to push her Metamorphmagus skills into sealing her wounds.

She was in trouble with the blade in her gut, she would need help to get out of this one… it would be so easy to die, to join Remus and their son and her parents… but Bellatrix was still out there, and so was Snape.

She tapped the charmed button on her right shoulder. "I need help."

"We know that, when else to you call us?" The voice whispered. "We'll be there in thirty seconds; can you make it to the door?"

"Yes," she said simply

"Meet me there."

She struggled to the door, stopping to pick up her cloak. When she stepped out of the door a white delivery van that had obviously seen better days pulled up in the street. The driver's side door opened and a red headed man rushed from the vehicle to her side.

"Merlin's massive member Tonks, what have you done to yourself?"

Despite the blood oozing between the fingers of her right hand as she attempted to stem the flow, she grinned. "Don't call me that. And you should see the other guys."

The redhead nodded, and rummaged in a cloak pocket that seemed to be much deeper than it should be. He pulled out a small gray sphere. "Anyone left inside?"

"No one breathing." She said dismissively.

Again, the redhead nodded and tossed the gray sphere through a ground floor window. "Come on, let's get you in the van," he said taking the woman by the arm and gently guiding her to the rear of the waiting van. Opening the rear doors, he spoke again. "She's hurt again."

"Of course she is. Why else would she call us?" a woman's voice answered. "I swear to Merlin Nymphadora, I am going to have a plaque with your name engraved on it hung over your bed in the ward."

Stepping up into the spacious room the van contained, she hissed. "Don't call me that Poppy. Nymphadora Tonks is dead." With those words, the still young Metamorphmagus pitched forward unconscious.

"Help me get her into the Ward!" Poppy Pomfrey said, "Then get us the hell out of here."

Twenty minutes later, as the battered van turned onto the M6, the building where the young woman who thought of herself as Vengeance had so recently fought for her life vanished down to the foundation. If not for the patch of bare earth where it had stood, no one would ever be able to show that anything had ever stood on that spot.

The neighbors, of course, called the police.

-===oooOOOooo===-

Hermione had maintained her vigil in the kitchen of #12 all day and into the night. Harry, she knew, was a creature of habit. If he apparated from a particular spot, he would usually return to that same spot.

All she had to do was wait.

However, waiting was hard. Waiting for Harry was especially hard.

It was nearly 3 a.m. before her waiting was rewarded when a sharp crack sounded in the middle of the kitchen. Hermione watched as Harry shed his father's cloak to suddenly appear in the room… carrying a girl in his arms?

"Dobby!" Harry called his back to where Hermione sat.

Instantly the elf appeared with a pop. "Harry Potter, Sir?"

"We've got a new visitor Dobby," Harry said quietly. "She's in a bad way. Do we have an empty room for her?"

"An empty room, Harry Potter, Sir?" the small being asked. "No Sir, all of the rooms are taken."

"Damn," Harry said. "Ok, could you please move Hannah in with Sue? Hannah will just have to decide if she's going to deal with what's happened or not," Harry said before indicating the sleeping girl in his arms. "Tracey is hurt badly. She's going to need some medical help, but not from Justin, not just yet. Are any of the girls up on their healing?"

"Miss Padma Patil usually assists Mr. Justin Finch-Fletchly with his healings Harry Potter Sir," Dobby answered.

"Perfect. Could you get Hannah moved in with Susan for me Dobby? But before you do that could you ask Padma to come here?"

The elf nodded energetically before popping away, and Harry seemed to relax a bit, as if stress was bleeding off from his shoulders.

"Harry?"

Potter, still encumbered with the girl twisted to face her in surprise. "Hermione!" he exclaimed. "I didn't know you were here."

"Who is that?" Hermione asked indicating the naked girl in Harry's arms, horrified by what she was seeing. The girl had obviously been… used. Hermione could not help but wonder if that would have been her fate if Harry had not…

"Tracey Davis," Potter said with a sigh. "She's had it rough for a while. Could you get some cushioning charms on the table so I can put her down? The featherlight charm wore off a while ago."

Ashamed of herself for not thinking of cushioning the table without having been asked, Hermione drew her wand and cast the needed charms.

Harry gently laid the girl down on the tabletop and flexed his arms to work out the cramps.

"Harry," Hermione said quietly. "Where did you go? Where did you find her?"

"I was at the Ministry. Dobby found information about Neville's location." Harry paused for a moment, wiping at his eyes with his left hand. "He's likely gone now. I was too late. Voldemort had infected him with some cursed fungus and Neville said it was incurable, that it was too late. He wouldn't come with me, and told me to take Tracey instead."

"What fungus was it Harry?" Hermione asked.

"I don't fucking know Hermione, and I don't really fucking care," Harry spat as he slumped into a chair. "What possible difference could it make? Neville is most likely dead now because I wasn't fast enough, because I didn't think to ask Dobby to try and find him sooner." The young man sighed. "It always comes down to me not doing enough, soon enough."

Padma rushed into the kitchen, tying off the belt of her dressing gown as she did so. "Harry, Dobby said you needed me? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine Pad," Harry said, standing up as if to prove his fitness. "This is your patient."

"Sweet Merlin!" Padma gasped when she saw the condition of the girl on the table. "I'd best get Justin."

"Get Justin if you really need him," Harry said softly. "But if you can deal with her injuries, it would probably be best to keep any of the lads away from her… at least for as long as we can."

Padma nodded and began the wand motions to scan the wounded girl to get a better understanding of the issues involved.

"She's badly hurt," Padma noted. "Justin is better trained than I…"

"When I found her, she asked me to kill her. Dared me to do it." Harry shook his head. "Dobby is moving Hannah in with Sue, when you're ready to move her, call Dobby and he'll help you. I'm heading upstairs to see if I can get any sleep. If you need Justin, call him, but I think the last thing she needs right now is any man touching her."

Hermione followed Harry from the kitchen, catching up with him as he stopped to stare at the portrait of Sirius' mother.

"What the bloody hell?"

"Language Harry," Hermione admonished her friend, more from reflex than from any objection to the words he was using. "Walburga called Dean a wog this morning. This was his way of expressing his displeasure."

Harry continued to stare at the portrait of the restrained, struggling, woman in black leather bondage gear for several seconds before an exhausted smile found its way to his lips. "Remind me to never call Dean a wog, would you Hermione?" Harry turned away from the portrait for the stairs.

"Harry, I need to talk to you," she said as she followed him up the stairs.

"Whatever it is, Hermione, it can wait," Harry said.

"It can't, Harry," she insisted. "It's about Dobby."

Harry stopped on the first landing. "What about Dobby? Is he hurt?"

"Not hurt…" Hermione hesitated. "When you left, I tried to get him to tell me where you went."

"Dobby wouldn't tell you," Harry noted, resuming his climb up the stairs. "You were wasting your time."

"I… I ordered him to tell me," Hermione admitted ashamedly.

Harry stopped again. "You what?"

"He was being obstinate," she explained, "and I needed to know where you had gone, so I…"

Harry held up a hand to silence her. "Dobby?"

The elf appeared between them with a pop. "Yes, Harry Potter?"

"Dobby," Harry said kneeling down on the landing so that he was eye level with the elf, "I understand you had a bit of a falling out with Hermione."

"Hermione Granger gave Dobby orders like a bossy girl," the elf explained. "Dobby lost his temper, Harry Potter. Dobby apologizes. It will not happen again."

"You have nothing to apologize for, Dobby," Harry said gently. "You are free, if someone presuming to give you orders angers you, which is your privilege as a free person. Hermione will not be making that mistake again. I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Dobby is fine, Harry Potter."

"Good, because I need my friend Dobby," Harry sighed. "Padma will be asking for your help with our newest guest in a few minutes. After that's done, try and get some rest yourself, okay Dobby?"

"Dobby will rest, Harry Potter," the elf assured him before popping away.

Harry nodded at the empty space the elf had occupied before turning to his oldest friend. "You won't be making that mistake again, will you Hermione?" he asked tiredly.

"If you had told me where…"

"Hermione," Harry interrupted her, "we are hanging on here by our fingernails. The very last thing we need is you chasing Dobby off because of your sense of entitlement. There are some things that I have to do alone. That is not going to change. There are somethings that you will end up doing alone, and that will likely nearly kill me, but I won't interfere. Padma will be doing things, Justin and Susan and Dean and everyone else will have things that only they can do, and we will let them. If we're going to survive, we're going to have to trust each other."

Hermione's eyes grew wide, "but you've always told me everything."

Harry reached out to gently cup her jaw with his right hand. "Hermione, I've almost never told you anything."

He turned and silently resumed his climb up the stairs to the attic, for the quiet corner he had claimed for himself.

-===oooOOOooo===-

A/N: This is one of my older incomplete ideas, and quite obviously on of my darker stories. It actually predates the release of the Deathly Hallows. Voldemort has won, the Ministry is in his hands. Unlike the Voldemort of Canon, this version of Tom doesn't have quite the death grip on the Idiot Ball and has eliminated all of his opposition he could

So, the Weasleys, beyond the Twins are gone. The Hogwarts staff, with the exception of Filius Flitwick and Poppy Pomfrey are dead. The sole survivor of the Order of the Phoenix is a very damaged Tonks, and the DA is down to the few survivors a somewhat more prepared Harry was able rescue and hide away at #12.

Poppy and the Twins are constantly on the move in a magically expanded up Ford Transit van, which includes, among other things the stolen complete Hogwarts Hospital Wing. They work with Tonks as they can, because she needs the help.

Flitwick has returned to the caverns of his grandfather's people below London and is part of the defensive forces keeping the DEs out. I've got a lovely 300 rip off planned for the little guy's last stand that I've never been able to write out.

Anyway, the story starts about 6 months after the fall of the ministry and I'm not really sure where I might take it if or when I ever pick it up again.

So, with the understanding that I might come back to it if inspiration strikes, I'm releasing it to a good home. Have fun.


	4. The Power of the Night

**A/N: I don't own Harry Potter and wouldn't particularly care to. I would like a rental agreement with option to buy for Hermione Granger. A short term contract with Nymphadora Tonks wouldn't be turned down. A Long-term agreement with Luna Lovegood would probably be a whole lot of fun. Any time Padma Patil wants to open negotiations, call me and oh for a weekend with Fleur. Oddly Lavender and Padma's sister (despite being her twin) Parvati do nothing for me…**

 **A/N2: This is a mix of genres, first and foremost it is a 'Hidden BadAss Neville' story. And there is a Crossover into a universe that becomes very clear by the end of what I've got written, though some of my pre-readers pegged it from the first section. I'm hardly subtle.**

 **This is one of those stories that started strong, but then just faded to nothing after about 1.5k words.**

 **The Power of the Night**

"Hello Gussie,"

Augusta Longbottom's eyes widened in surprise, and then she threw her arms around the man. "Alfred? We weren't expecting you."

The man shrugged. "An unexpected vacation. My employer is busy and will be away for several months, so I thought I'd come home and check on Frank and Alice. Have there been any changes?"

"Sadly, no," Augusta answered. "They aren't degrading, but they aren't getting any better either."

"I hope the Lestranges are enjoying their time in Azkaban," Alfred said viciously. "And how is Neville?"

"Let's get some lunch," Augusta countered, obviously trying to change the subject.

"Let's," the man agreed.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

He waited until the meal was served and the waiter had left them alone before again asking his question.

"Out with it Gussie, how is Neville?" Alfred paused for a moment before continuing. "Is he like… well, like me?"

Augusta's eyes widened, "oh, no, Merlin, no. If anything he's too powerful, Alfred."

"Too powerful?" Alfred asked with a grin. "Allowing underage magic at Longbottom Hall, are we?"

"Oh, don't you start," Augusta huffed. "His accidental magic started when he was four, after the fifth time he turned a room inside out, Garrick Ollivander himself told us that the only way to get it under control was to get him his wand."

"All right," Alfred said with a small smile. "If his problem isn't his magic, what is it?"

Augusta looked around to ensure there was no one near enough to overhear. "He remembers, Alfred. He remembers everything."

The man blinked. "Oh, my."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

"Hello Neville," the old man said as he entered the nursery.

The boy in question looked up from his primer and his face brightened with a smile. "Uncle Alfred!"

"I had some time, so I thought I'd come see my favorite Grand Nephew."

"I'm glad you did, sir."

"Sir?" Alfred asked quizzically. "Nice try Neville, but remember who you're talking to. That rot won't work on me."

The boy blushed, so Alfred pressed his inquiry. "Your Gran tells me you remember that night."

The boy avoided his eyes, looking back down at his lesson book. "I do. At first it was only at night, in my dreams, but now it's all the time. I even remember the man who tried to make me forget."

"Cornelius Fudge is a miserable little man, Neville," Alfred said, "and not much of a wizard. If there is any justice in the world, he and his ilk would disappear and never amount to much, but as there isn't, they often rise to high power. You're a strong wizard, you get that from both Frank and my Alice. Your magic has broken the Obliviate that fool Fudge put on you and given you some horrible memories."

"Uncle Garrick said the same thing," Neville sighed.

"Garrick Ollivander and I rarely agree on much," Alfred laughed. "But on you we both agree. You will be a force to be reckoned with."

Alfred lowered himself into the chair next to Neville's desk. "So, you know. What do you intend to do with this knowledge?"

The six year old was silent for several seconds, quite obviously pondering just how much of his plans he dared reveal to an adult.

"I go to Hogwarts in five years," he said softly. "I can't do much about the surviving adults who bought their way out of gaol, but I can keep their children from spreading their poison."

Alfred could not help but be taken aback by the intensity of the boy's anger, and he also could not help but find it startlingly familiar.

"And what do you know about me?" he asked.

"I know you're Mum's uncle, that you live among the Muggles, and can't visit all that often because you're a squib," Neville explained. "And I know that isn't fair."

The old man smiled. "Life is quite often extremely unfair, Neville. In most families, I would have been banished at 11, if not outright killed."

"Not our families," Neville said stubbornly.

"Indeed," the old man agreed. "Not our families. I was nurtured and educated, and most importantly loved. Your Gran was my sister Kate's best friend at Hogwarts and believe it or not, we even dated a while until she met your granddad."

"Okay," the boy said eloquently. "Ew."

"Poke fun all you want," Alfred laughed. "There will come a time when you will learn to take joy in the torment of children. After I finished my education, I did my time in Her Majesties' Service, and then I traveled for a while."

The old man paused, watching as his all too mature grand nephew schooled his features. Yet another familiar trait. "I see the question in your eyes, Neville, you want to know what any of this has to do with your plans for the future."

The boy pondered this for a moment. It was hard to believe anyone this intense could possibly be 6 years old. "Are you telling me I should ignore what they did to Mum and Dad?"

"No," Alfred said with a shake of his head. "Never that. What I'm telling you is that you won't be able to do anything about it with only your wand. You will need more. You will need to know tactics, equipment, planning."

The boy's eyes went wide in surprise. "You're not going to tell me I'm too young?"

"Would it do any good?" Alfred asked.

Neville once again would not meet the man's eyes.

"You are too young, but all demanding you change your ambitions would do is have you hide them from me," Alfred pointed out, "which would mean I would not be able to help."

"You're going to help?" Neville asked hopefully.

"I am," the old man agreed. "At least at first. When you're old enough, I'll introduce you to someone who will understand your ambitions perhaps even better than you do yourself."

"I'm ready now!" the six year old decided.

"No, Neville, you're not," Alfred disagreed. "And I hope you never are, I hope there will come a time when you decide you don't need or want the training I'm going to give you, but that is up to you."

"Teach me." The boy said, and the old man knew he had lost.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

Insert training montage.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

Three years later nine year old Neville Longbottom stood in the entry hall of a house not terribly unlike Longbottom lodge. The building had a cavernous feel that no amount of furniture could hide.

Today was the day that determined if he had been wasting his time.

A tall dark haired man in a black polo shirt and trousers entered the room reading a book. "Did you need something Alfred?"

"Actually Master Bruce, I believe I have something you need."

The man looked up from his book, seemingly surprised to find strangers in his home, but Neville could tell that it was an act. The man not only knew they were there, but had known it before he had entered the room.

"If I may, Master Bruce, my grandnephew, Neville Longbottom, and his grandmother Augusta Longbottom."

"What is going on Alfred?" Bruce Wayne asked.

"I'm here to be trained," Neville interjected. "Uncle Alfred says that you're the best, and that you would understand."

"Trained? To do what?" Wayne asked.

"To fight," Neville explained. "To win."

"I don't know what you think I can do," the man said, until he took in the driven expression on the boy's face. "No, that's not going to happen."

With that the billionaire left the room.

"I was afraid of this," Alfred sighed. "Give me a moment, please."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

Knowing the house ever better than its owner, Alfred caught up with his employer and son in all but blood in a few moments.

"What were you thinking Alfred?" the man thundered.

"I was thinking that Neville is on much the same mission as you are, Master Bruce," Alfred said quietly, "He is as driven as you, he is as angry as you, and in his world he is as wealthy as you."

"'In his world'? He's magical?"

"He is," Alfred acknowledged.

"So you brought him here so that he could end up like me?"

"Actually, no," Alfred corrected. "I brought him here so that he wouldn't, and I hope his presence will give you someone to care about, so as to pull you back from your own psychosis."

Bruce Wayne was many things, but he never, ever lied to himself. He could see the truth in Alfred's words… but to risk a child in his work…

"The gym, one hour," Wayne growled. What could it hurt to see what the kid could do?"

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **AN: An idea I started but could never get to go anywhere. A classic 'Neville as the 'hidden badass' trope', he finds himself working with Bruce Wayne, taking on the identity of Dick Grayson, (and Augusta becoming 'Aunt Harriet' simply because it amused me), while circulating rumors of his near Squib status to explain why no one ever sees him.**

 **At 11 he shows up at Hogwarts under glamours as the chubby, utterly unconfident Neville of canon, while working behind the scenes to cut the Junior Death Eaters off at the knees.**

 **If I ever get inspired I may pick it up again, but until then, free to a good home.**


	5. It's Possible

**A/N: I do not own Harry Potter and would not particularly care to. Nor do I have any claims to Team Possible or anything else owned by the House of Mouse.**

 **It's Possible**

Harry entered the Headmaster's office sullenly finding the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall waiting for him.

It had been four days since Sirius had fallen through the veil, four days since he had destroyed the Headmaster's office in his rage. He had not seen Ron or Hermione or any of the others since that night; Madam Pomfrey refused to speak to him about them, saying only that they had been transferred to St. Mungo's so that their injuries from the adventure at the Ministry of Magic might be dealt with.

This must be the day he paid the piper for his actions that night.

"Have a seat Mr. Potter," the Headmaster said from behind his desk.

Harry made no move to sit. If he was to be expelled for endangering his classmates, he would be doing it on his feet.

"Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall said softly. "Please take a seat."

There was something odd about McGonagall's manner. Harry carefully sat on the edge of the chair directly in front of Dumbledore's desk and waited.

"I'm afraid I have some unpleasant news to relay to you Mr. Potter… Harry." The old man said sadly.

 **Here it comes,** Harry thought. **It's over. No matter what that stupid prophecy said, they are snapping my wand and sending me back to the Dursleys**.

"Miss Granger's parents reacted rather badly to the news that their daughter had been subjected to such a horrible curse." Professor McGonagall started hesitantly.

"They checked her out of St. Mungo's two days ago and took Miss Granger home. Upon arriving, the Granger family was confronted by seven Death Eaters who, it seemed, were looking for revenge." Dumbledore added with an air of sadness.

 **Hermione? Oh god no. No.** Harry's blood ran cold. **What have I done?**

"The Grangers were all killed Mr. Potter… Harry. We suspect that all of those who accompanied you to the Ministry of Magic that night are in danger. We have taken steps to increase the security of their homes."

 **What have I done? Oh god, oh god, oh god!**

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

"Mr. Potter?" Minerva McGonagall asked. "Are you alright?"

Harry blinked. What had happened? Why was he laying on the floor of the Headmaster's office, and why was his head of house kneeling at his side? Then, as Professor McGonagall assisted him off the floor and into a chair, the memories came flooding back.

"There will be a service for Miss Granger in the Great Hall tomorrow Harry, unfortunately Mr. Weasley will not be able to attend due to his injuries, but the rest of your friends will be there. Professor McGonagall and I thought that you could use a warning of what was coming."

Harry nodded his mind a maelstrom of regret and self-recrimination. Hermione was gone because of him. Her parents were dead, because of him. Sirius had been imprisoned for a decade, and then been murdered, because of him. His friends were in danger because of him. He just wanted the earth to swallow him up.

"You will not be able to visit the burrow this summer Harry," Dumbledore said kindly. "The security concerns will not allow it, but I will be attempting to arrange some visitors for you this summer, perhaps even some additional training to aid you in the occluding of your mind."

Harry stood from his chair and without permission exited the Headmaster's office, ignoring McGonagall's protests that he should return.

He wandered the castle for hours, never paying any attention to where he was, nor where he was going. He roamed from the highest towers to the deepest dungeons, speaking to no one, ignoring anyone who spoke to him. **Hermione's dead** kept running through his mind. **Sirius is dead. Cedric is dead. Hermione is dead. It's all my fault. My fault. My fault.**

Harry's anguish built during his wanderings. A deep self-loathing came close to consuming him until he found himself saved by a most unlikely source.

"My Father's in prison Scarhead. You're going to pay!"

The familiar voice pierced his self-absorption. Harry looked up to find Draco Malfoy holding his wand while Pansy Parkinson stood behind the scion of the Malfoy line with a smirk upon her lips.

"Oh yes Malfoy," Harry spat, "it's my fault that your father is a pathetic ass who was beaten by six school kids even though he had eleven of his fellow Death Eaters at his back. All my fault."

"You're going to get what's coming to you Potter!" Malfoy spat, his wand coming up to position to cast.

"Yeah Draco?" Harry tore open his shirt to expose his bare chest and approached the blond prefect until the tip of Draco's wand pressed into his breastbone. "Have you got the stones to do it Draco? Do you? Go on, kill me."

"Draco, it's a trick." Pansy hissed. "Don't do it."

"Yeah Draco, it's a trick. It is good to know which of you has the brains in this relationship. Come on Draco, kill me. You can do it, just two little words. Your Dark Lord will probably reward you by allowing you to lick his ass clean the next time he shits." Harry took another step closer to the blond causing the wand to bow. "Do it. KILL ME." He screamed.

"You're insane." Draco whispered as he stepped back, before he took Pansy's hand in his and the pair fled from the Gryffindor.

Harry watched them leave before sinking to his knees and allowing the tears to come.

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

Harry sat alone in the last compartment of the last car of the Hogwarts Express. No one else would chance being with him, while not everyone believed the stories that Draco Malfoy told of his insanity, but no one wanted to take the chance.

Neville's Gran had come to the school to pick him up, as Mr. Weasley retrieved Ginny and Mr. Lovegood had come for Luna, so he did not even have the support of others who were at the Ministry that horrible night.

Hour after hour he stared out the window at the scenery as it blurred past, seeing none of it. Harry did not move, did not make any sound, never as much as made a trip to the loo.

Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot both sought out Harry during the trip, but upon finding him, and witnessing his condition through the window of the compartment, they could not bring themselves to interrupt his solitude. Susan and Hannah had clung to each other and cried the night that Hermione Granger's death had been announced. Susan had immediately owled her aunt Amelia to find out exactly what had happened the night that the five Gryffindors and Luna Lovegood had invaded the Ministry of Magic, and what Amelia knew of the attack on the Grangers

Amelia had confirmed everything that the Headmaster had told them about the Grangers, and confirmed more than a few of the rumors that swirled around the adventures of the Ministry Six as they had come to be called in the Hufflepuff common room.

Susan was a young woman with a deep need to mother, and she found herself yearning to take Harry into her arms and hold him until his pain passed. Hannah believed it best to leave him alone in his pain, reasoning that they could always go to him later. The pair rejoined their friends two compartment forward of Harry's, always keeping an eye on the passage to make sure that Malfoy didn't make one of his appearances.

They need not have bothered. Draco's confrontation with Harry in the halls had frightened the Slytherin to his very core.

In the end, Harry had no visitors during the ride from Hogsmeade to Platform 9 ¾. As soon as the Express came to a stop, the raven-haired boy sullenly pulled his trunk from its storage location and made his way off the platform through the barrier into Kings Cross station.

Vernon Dursley's face took on an expression of distaste at the sight of his nephew. "Come along boy," he spat. "I've been waiting long enough."

A silent Harry followed his uncle to the car park wondering if it would not be better just to stay among the Muggles.

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

"You ok KP?" the blond man whispered.

"Yeah Ron, just a weird sensation there." The Redhead started moving down the rope again shaking her head. **Weird** , she thought. **Sorta like déjà vu, but… different**.

"So, this is Draken's latest lair." Ron Stoppable said quietly looking down into the cavernous headquarters. "Better than that Time Share Lair from last time."

"Yeah," Kim Possible said in agreement. "Seeing the baddies cut corners like that is a real downer. A budget death trap is just depressing." The cheerleader turned adventurer landed silently and began a careful search of the lair.

"AH! KP!" Ron screamed as he lost his grip on the line he was descending, ending up being saved from hitting the floor headfirst by the rope wrapping itself around his leg, leaving him upside down, inexplicably without his trousers.

"Hello Kim Possible," an amplified voice echoed throughout the room.

Kim paused in her efforts toward freeing her partner. "Draken," She greeted the blue-skinned man on the hovering platform.

"That's Dr. Draken, Miss Possible. There is no reason for you to be rude. Shego, remind Miss Possible of her manners."

"My pleasure Doc."

Kim still had not spotted Shego in the echoing chamber, out of the corner of her eye she spotted a green flare of energy, reacting on instinct she pivoted in place to face the attacking Shego, preparing to dodge the blast of green plasma the former hero of Go City had sent her way.

There is was, a pulsing mass of green energy rushing at her. Avoiding it was easy; she had done it dozens of times before, but this time… The sight of the green plasma brought about a spasm of utter terror.

That green was death, death that was coming at her. Panic gripped her; try as she might, she could not move, and she could not make a sound as the green pulse hit her.

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

The concussive force threw Kim into a bank of computer equipment, knocking the breath from her lungs. Shaking her head to clear it, she felt her fear evaporate, and she leaped toward the oncoming Shego. The pair had sparred dozens of times before, as always, Shego's advantage lay in her power, while Kim's lay in her speed and agility.

As a result, they were evenly matched. Neither could put the other down, though both tried.

Ron Stoppable finally freed himself from the climbing rope and having gotten his footing he had managed to find and was once again wearing his trousers. His concern for his best friend had overridden his usual anxiety about the danger of a mission with Kim. Something was wrong. The way Kim had just stood there and allowed Shego's plasma burst to hit her like that.

"Aren't they something to watch Sidekick?"

Ron jumped at the sound of the deranged blue-skinned man's voice. How had Drakken gotten so close? "My name is Ron Stoppable. You've captured me more than a dozen times."

"Really?" the former Drew Lipski asked, his monobrow bunching in the middle as he concentrated. "Can't say I remember you."

"Watta cherk!" Rufus the naked mole rat said from his place in Ron's pocket.

"I'll say," Ron agreed. "At least I'm not a college drop out."

"Watch it Sidekick, They didn't kick me out, I quit." Drakken said shoving the high school boy.

"Oh, that's so much better," Ron responded, shoving back. "I bet not having to go to class freed up a whole lot more time to build robot women to date."

That was when the slap fight started.

The sounds of the sadly pathetic confrontation distracted the two women from their own battle. Kim paused in mid parry of Shego's fusion pulse when she spotted what was passing for a fight on the level above.

"Oh lord," Shego said shaking her head as her plasma flares died. "Again?"

"Looks like it," Kim agreed.

"You get yours," Shego sighed. "I'll get mine."

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

Harry had been 'home' for two weeks when late one Tuesday evening, banished to his room after he had finished cleaning the kitchen following dinner, he heard what was possibly the oddest sound he had ever heard in his young life.

"Oh, Harry?" came Vernon's voice from down stairs. "Could you come down here for a moment?"

Harry first thought was that of amazement. He had not been sure that Vernon even knew his name. Harry's second thought was shock. Vernon _asked_ him to do something? Surely that was that one of the signs of the apocalypse?

"Coming Uncle Vernon." He answered as he exited his room and started down the stairs wondering what was going on. Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, he saw that Vernon and Dudley were both at the front door, looking out. "Yes Uncle?"

"Harry my boy," the man said cheerfully, "You've a visitor."

Vernon and Dudley stepped away from the door to reveal a smiling Fleur Delacour.

"Fleur?"

"'Allo 'erri." The young woman smiled and stepped between Vernon and Dudley. "I was just explaining to your uncle and cousin that Professor Dumbledore asked me to tutor you this summer."

"Tutor me?"

"Oh, yes. I will be coming by two, perhaps three times a week."

"That will be great!" Dudley chirped from behind Fleur. "I could help him study!"

"Oh, how sweet of you to offer," Fleur said, reaching out to cup several of Dudley's chins, "unfortunately, it cannot be. What I have to teach 'erri would be of no use to one as strong as you."

Dudley immediately began nodding in agreement with the beautiful woman.

"Now, come walk with me 'erri, so that we might discuss your tuition, and so that we will not bother your family."

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

Fleur guided Harry from #4's entryway after offering a dazzling smile to the two male Dursleys that seemingly caused them to lose all muscle control.

"So," Harry said after a few moments of silence passed between them, "what is all this about?"

A thin smile crossed the beautiful woman's lips. "I am to teach you to protect your mind," she said simply.

"Waste of time, for both you and me," Harry said hanging his head. "Just ask Snape. If I had learned what I needed to know so many people would still be alive."

"Severus Snape is a vile child pretending to be a man," Fleur sniffed. "He tried to use his horrid technique on me, and I taught him the error of his ways."

Despite his ongoing misery, Harry showed the ghost of a grin at the thought of Fleur abusing Snape. "Ok, I guess having a bad teacher might be as reasonable a reason for my not learning occlumancy," he admitted. "So, why have you been tasked to teach me?"

"I joined the Order of the Phoenix, not long after I came to Britain to work for the Goblins," Fleur explained. At a meeting last week, Dumbledore was trying to convince Snape to continue with his lessons, which the horrid man resisted."

Fluer takes over Harry's occlumancy lessons.

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

Insert scenes dealing with Kim mind controlled

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

Insert scenes dealing with Harry returning to Hogwarts for 6th year

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

Insert scenes dealing with Kim being freed from mind control and remembering who she is.

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

Insert scenes dealing with Harry and Fleur

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

Insert scenes dealing with a very angry Kim and her preparation to rescue Harry

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

Insert scenes dealing with Harry's return to #4 Privet drive for summer before 7th year

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

So much about this gig did not make a lick of sense, but as Shego had determined a long time ago, as long as the check cleared, it did not really matter.

She had been minding her own business, a little down time in a very expensive Italian spa when just as her massage time with Ignacio (he of the tight butt and six pack abs) had been getting interesting, a voice she would have just as soon not heard that day broke the silence.

"Hello Shego. I need a few days of your time."

"Go away Kimmie," the raven-haired mercenary said dismissively, never looking up from the massage table. "Ignacio and I are have a little big people time just now. Come back in about six years."

Ignacio laughed and Shego smiled into the headrest of the massage table as Ignacio resumed his manipulation of the muscles of her back. Oh, young Ms. Possible was good, but Shego knew she was better. It was entirely possible that someday that equation would change and Kimmie would be the better of the two of them, assuming that someone had not paid Shego to kill the princess first, but here and now…

There was a sudden grunt of masculine pain, and Ignacio was flying across the room. Shego blinked in disbelief. Kim Possible was attacking? Kim defended, she did not attack, the girl _never_ attacked. What was going on? What had changed?

Shego was off the massage table in a blink, ignoring her nakedness. She ignited her plasma flares and moved to return the favor to the cheerleader, only to have the girl weave through her defenses as if Shego were a sparing dummy, and drive an elbow into the nerve cluster at the base of her left clavicle.

Shego screamed in fury as she lost all sensation in her left arm and the appendage hung limp at her side, conflicting with her balance.

"You're going to pay for that Kimmie!"

"Oh please Shego." Kim Possible said as she connected with a punch to the older woman's midsection. "When have you ever made me pay for anything? Oh, you've knocked me down on occasion, but you've never beaten me."

Shego lunged at the younger girl, and was surprised to have Kim produce what appeared to be a polished stick, not quite a foot long and murmur something that sounded like 'petrified' when Shego's legs snapped together as if they were tied, and her arms slapped to her sides as if she were attempting to stand at attention. Suddenly unable to maintain her balance the woman with the slight green tinge to her skin fell face forward to the ground.

Trying to struggle, but finding herself unable to do anything more than move her eyes, Shego felt the gloved hands of her opponent take hold of her shoulder and roll her over so that the mercenary was on her back facing up.

"So, do I have your attention now Shego?" With modest effort, the redhead produced what appeared to be a golden brick from a rucksack lying on the floor. "Gold," she said unnecessarily. "400 troy ounces. At 402 dollars per ounce, that's more than 160 thousand dollars. Yours for four or five days of your time."

Shego watched as the Princess did something with her polished stick again. She was still restrained, but now she could move her head. "You're kidding me? You're trying to hire _me_? What have you done to me? Where did you get that kind of gold?"

"Incompetent thieves. It's no big. People are always offering me rewards, and this one time I accepted when the mine owner offered." The redhead's green eyes were blazing. "How about it Shego? Do I hire you, or turn you over to the police for any of the dozens of warrants out for your arrest?"

"Where are we going?" Shego asked, wondering just what had happened to bring about such anger in little Kimmie Possible.

"England. There is someone I need kidnapped. And there are people I'm going to kill."

The stick was waved again, and Shego found herself free. Draken was never going to believe this one.

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

"I don't see anything Princess. Are you sure you're not imagining things?"

"Honestly!" The younger woman hissed. "Shut up and use your eyes. Near the hedge, about two feet back from the pavement."

The older of the pair paused for a moment, somewhat taken aback by the sheer hatred in the girl's voice. That was very odd. Not knowing what to make of the girl's anger, Shego focused her attention on the spot indicated.

The light rain made the discovery possible. A spatter pattern appeared in mid air, as if the rain was falling on something that was not there. By watching the spatter for several seconds, the raven-haired woman was able to discern a human shape.

"Damn, Princess, that's impressive tech. I've never seen stealth that good." She shook her head. "Too bad the operator is an idiot."

"Not as impressive as you might think," the girl beside her sniffed. "Try your infrared."

From pouches on their belts, both women fished out their respective night vision gear, and put them on. The three individuals surrounding the house sprang into instant relief.

"Well, that's stupid. Why would anyone build the world's best visual stealth tech and leave it open to infrared?"

"The people who made the cloaks never heard of infrared" The younger said, increasing the magnification on her night vision equipment. **Let us see now** , she thought. **Tonks… Fletcher… and…** Her breath caught in her throat. Once again, she increased the magnification to be sure. **Yes**.

"Change of plans Shego. You enter the house. The target is on the second floor, in the smallest bedroom."

"The one with the bare bulb."

"Yes. There are two, possibly three other people in the house, a fat man and thin woman, and possibly a morbidly obese boy about the same age as the target. If they impede you in any way, hurt them."

"Hurt them?" The woman in black and green blinked. "Kimmie, what's going on with you? Why the change in plans?"

"Nothing's going on with me Shego. I brought you along because you are the best. The change is because there is someone outside the house I want to speak with. Bear in mind that these people outside the house are dangerous, if they start throwing around colored lights, don't let them touch you."

"Your concerns are touching Kimmie, but I'm a big girl."

"If the big girl wants to get paid, she won't let one of the lights touch her or the target when you extract him. Especially a green light, green like your power."

"All right boss." Shego said accepting the changes to the plan. "Ready when you are."

The short redhead nodded. "Go."

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

 **A/N: Yeah, a Kim Possible crossover. No, Hermione isn't Kim. Kim is Hermione.**

 **Dumbledore needed a calming influence on Harry, one he could control, so he went looking. The Weasleys, despite being Dumbledore fans didn't fit. They would always do the right thing, not what was needed for 'the greater good'. Albus found a young Muggleborn who hadn't noticed her powers in the US, one Kimberly Anne Possible, and basically snatched her up, leaving behind a golem of his own design. One that took young Miss Possible's website promise of 'Can do anything' quite literally. This is born the hero we know from the TV show.**

 **'Hermione' utterly fails in her task to calm Harry down, so after the Ministry debacle, Dumbledore decides to pull the plug on the project, removes Hermione's glamors, uploads the golem's memories into her head and puts her back into her original life.**

 **Between Ron and her adventures, Kim keeps getting weird flashbacks that she can't really understand.**

 **Harry gets a new 'calming' influence in the person of Fleur... Well, maybe not calming exactly, but definitely distracting.**

 **Then Kim gets mind controlled by Dr. Dementor (ha!) it takes Ron and Wade a few months to free her and when they do, they wake up Hermione's memories as well.**

 **A extremely angry Hermione.**

 **I've been playing with this off and on for at least 5 years and it's going no where for me, so free to a good home, if anyone wants it.**


	6. Howling

**A/N: I don't own Harry Potter and wouldn't particularly care to. I would like a rental agreement with option to buy for Hermione Granger. A short term contract with Nymphadora Tonks wouldn't be turned down. A Long-term agreement with Luna Lovegood would probably be a whole lot of fun. Any time Padma Patil wants to open negotiations, call me and oh for a weekend with Fleur. Oddly Lavender and Padma's sister (despite being her twin) Parvati do nothing for me…**

 **A/N2: I blame this one on Youtube… I happened across some A Team clips and was inspired. First it was going to be a fusion rather than a crossover, with the obvious character shifts. Harry in the role of Hannibal, Neville in the Face role, Luna as Murdock and, of course, an extremely stressed out Hermione in the BA role, refusing to ride in any vehicle driven by Luna due to commons sense. As funny as the idea was, it just wouldn't come together. So, this is what happens when the real A Team is called to the Harry Potter world.**

 **This is one of those stories that started strong, but then just faded to nothing like so many others.**

 **Howling**

"Daddy?"

Xenophilius Lovegood looked up from his desk, "Yes, Luna?"

"Some men to see you Daddy," the sixteen year old said, her wide eyes showing her confusion, "they were calling you by an odd name, but they had a Muggle Photo of you from a long time ago."

"Ah," Xeno said as he rose from his desk, "Some old friends from my youth, come to visit I suspect. Do show them in, will you?"

"Of course Daddy," Luna giggled, her confusion allayed by her father's assurances.

Xeno had only moments to steel himself before Luna led the three men into his office. The three were all showing their age, but they also moved in a manner that suggested that their skills were unaffected by the passage of time.

"Thank you, Luna," Lovegood said with a wide smile for the light of his life. "I believe my friends and I have some bothersome business to discuss, why don't you run along?"

"Getting lost for a while," Luna giggled again. "Message understood, Daddy."

The door closed as the girl left the room. Xeno's manner changed, gone was the slightly mad man, in his place was someone else.

"Thank you for coming," he said, his dialect shifting from that of a resident of Cornwall to that of a resident from somewhere in the area of Boston in the United States. "You're looking good fellas."

"What they hell, Murdock?" The large black man asked. "You're English now?"

"I've always been English, BA," Xeno laughed as he hugged the man. "I was born Xenophilius Lovegood, in this very house, and only took on the name Murdock when I joined the Army on a lark."

"You're looking… good," The tallest of the three visitors said hesitantly.

"As are you Templeton," Xeno said as he took the man's hand shaking it firmly. "And you Colonel… It's especially good to see you."

John 'Hannibal' Smith took his old friend's hand with a look of confusion on his face. "What's going on Murdock? You've hardly aged a day, and you've got a daughter? At our age, we should have great grandchildren. What is all this?" He asked gesturing around the room.

"Please, everyone take a seat," Xeno said, gesturing widely. "I've got a favor to ask."

 **Howling**

"Now let me get this straight…" BA Baracus said in an uncharacteristically quiet tone, "You're a wizard?"

"I am," Xeno nodded. "Seriously, how else could you explain how we got out of some of our adventures? When I had no other choice, I did a little magic to save our lives."

"Without the examples," Templeton 'Face' Peck said quietly, still staring at the live goat chewing on the left cuff of his tailored slacks, a goat that had been a footstool just a few moments before, "I'd have suspected that you had snuck out of the hospital without your meds again."

"You didn't call us out here to discuss your life," Hannibal noted, "or to show us magic tricks. What's going on, Captain?"

A sad smile crossed the wizard's lips. "No one has called me Captain for years. Simply put Gentlemen, I need your help. Magical Britain faces with a horror, a dark wizard who intends to purge all that is good and happy from this land, and the government is choosing to look the other way as the madman kills innocents. The only ones standing up to him are a collection of schoolchildren, with whom my daughter has aligned herself. I fear for her life, I truly do."

"I haven't hit another man in almost twenty five years," BA rumbled from his chair, "but I still pity the fool who would hurt that sweet little girl."

 **A/N: From here, I have no idea where it would go. The trick would be having the Death Eaters lock the boys in a warehouse full of tools and spare parts so that they could do their thing, and end up firing thousands of rounds at the Death Eaters without actually hitting anyone.**

 **As always, free to a good home.**


	7. The Other Side

**A/N: I don't own Harry Potter and wouldn't particularly care to. I would like a rental agreement with option to buy for Hermione Granger. A short term contract with Nymphadora Tonks wouldn't be turned down. A Long-term agreement with Luna Lovegood would probably be a whole lot of fun. Any time Padma Patil wants to open negotiations, call me and oh for a weekend with Fleur. Oddly Lavender and Padma's sister (despite being her twin) Parvati do nothing for me…**

 **Visits from the Other Side**

For perhaps the thousandth time in his Hogwarts career, Harry pondered the Magical World's fascination with pumpkin juice. He filled his goblet carefully, while his thoughts continued. He liked the stuff well enough. But would it kill them to offer orange, grape or even tomato juice, just for a little variety? Maybe it was just he was becoming bored with Hogwarts after 6 years.

He raised the goblet to his lips and sipped, his eyes closed. At his side, Ron was slurping and chewing his way through his own breakfast. Between Harry's musings on Hogwarts' breakfast beverage selection and the noises coming from his best friend, the raven-haired youth could be forgiven for being startled by a much hated voice saying something totally unexpected.

"Morning, lads," Draco Malfoy said happily. "Mind if we join you?"

Harry sighed. He really wasn't in the mood for Malfoy's shite today, so he'd just let Ron deal with telling the blond ponce to piss off. The sound of Ron's eating stopped, but the normally volatile Gryffindor wasn't responding to Malfoy, at all. This was odd enough that Harry opened his eyes to see what was happening.

To his left, Ron was staring, open mouthed, the remains of what he had been chewing still in his mouth unswallowed. That was odd. Then, Harry turned his attention to Malfoy, only to find the Slytherin standing on the far side of the table, with a questioning expression on his face. Clinging to Malfoy's right arm, looking at him in loving adoration was Hermione Granger.

Harry joined Ron in staring at the couple incredulously.

"So lads," Draco repeated after several seconds, "may we join you?"

"Yeah, sure," Ron nodded after he and Harry had shared a glance.

"Ta' mate," Draco said with a wide smile, holding Hermione's chair out for her as she detached herself from his arm and sat down.

"Good morning, boys," Hermione said happily as she opened her napkin and placed it in her lap before beginning her breakfast selection. "It's it a wonderful morning?"

"If you say so," Harry said cautiously. "This is new," he noted.

"Draco and me?" the brunette asked incredulously. "Harry, you know very well that Draco and I have been dating for two years."

"You have?" Ron asked, glancing at Harry who shrugged because he didn't remember Hermione ever having said anything about such a thing.

"Of course we have," Hermione sighed as she cut into a rasher of bacon, before beginning to delicately feed Draco. "I swear, it's like the two of you never listen to me."

"Father says that one should always pay attention to one's lady love," Draco contributed, as he guided his own fork lovingly to Hermione's mouth, "so excuse me if I don't mind not having to share your attention with them."

"Okay," Harry said, fishing in the pocket of his robes and pulling out a crystal vial. "Not that the sight of the two of you feeding each other is sickening or anything, but Hermione, I'd like you to take this, please."

"What is it?"

"It's the love potion antidote you made for me after the Romilda Vane incident." Harry explained.

"I did?" She asked.

"I appreciate your concerns for Hermione's wellbeing," Draco interjected, "really I do, though I do question why it took you two years to say anything. But really, Potter, do we need to subject Hermione to a potion that _she_ brewed?"

"Oh, you," Hermione said, swatting Draco's arm playfully. "I'm not that bad at Potions."

"Hermione, I love you, dearly," Malfoy sighed, "but you are an utter disaster in the Potions lab."

"Hermione," Harry said forcefully when all his friend did was blush prettily at Malfoys mischaracterization of her skills, "take the potion, right now, so I can see you do it. Ron, I think we're going to need your dose as well."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, fishing his own vial from the pockets of his robes. He pushed the crystal container across the table to Malfoy, "I think they've both been dosed."

"Is it too much to hope that you brewed this, Ron?" Draco asked, picking up the vial hesitantly.

"You want a potion I brewed?" Ron asked.

Draco unstoppered the vial and sniffed its contents. "Well, it smells all right, I suppose…" he reached over and gently tapped his vial against the one in Hermione's fingers. "Here's to you, my love."

"Cheers," Hermione agreed.

As one, the pair tipped the potions into their mouths, swallowing as they did so.

And nothing happened.

"So, not a love potion then?" Ron asked

"I guess not," Harry agreed. "But this is just so very weird."

"Is it all right for us to have our breakfast now?" Draco asked after several seconds.

"Sure," Harry nodded. Something told him that this was shaping up to be a very odd year. Draco Malfoy was being pleasant, Hermione was in love, and as usual, he and Ron had no idea what was going on.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

Harry had almost gotten used to a friendly Draco when Lavender and Parvati arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast.

"What are _**you**_ doing here?" Parvati asked, her dislike for the Malfoy scion dripping from every syllable.

"Having breakfast with my girlfriend and her best friends," Draco responded, as he guided his fork, laden with a bit of sausage to Hermione's mouth, receiving a tidbit from her plate in exchange.

"Hermione," Lavender asked, "how did you beat us down here? We left before you were even out of the dorm?"

"My Draco was hungry," Hermione answered, "so I had to hurry to make sure he got what he needed."

"Your Draco?" Parvati asked, clearly a bit stricken by the thought. "Since when are you and he…"

"I swear," Hermione huffed, "it's like none of you ever listen to me. Draco and I have been dating for two years."

Lavender and Parvati exchanged a look before shrugging and filling their plates, Lavender producing one of her colorful fashion magazines from the pockets of her robes and the pair began eating while evaluating each outfit and model in turn.

"Ooh, that's nice," Hermione said, abandoning the feeding of her boyfriend and sliding down the table for a better view of the magazine. "I wish I had your legs, Lav, so I could pull off that look," she continued with a sigh, "but I think I could manage this one." With that she produced her own magazine from a pocket while Lavender and Parvati nodded in appreciation at the photo Hermione revealed.

Ron and Harry sat staring, their mouths hanging open again. Hermione was interested in fashion?

"Huh." Draco grunted.

Harry turned his attention to the Slytherin, who appeared to be staring in as much shock as he and Ron were feeling.

"Those two swots are interested in fashion?" Draco asked.

"Swots?" Ron echoed. "Lavender and Parvati?"

"Oh, come on," Draco answered, shaking his head. "You had to have noticed. Always studying, never having time for any fun. It's odd seeing them with a human side."

Again Harry and Ron exchanged looks of confusion. What was going on?

"So," Ron said, so desperate for anything that remotely resembled normality, he was even willing to speak with Draco Malfoy, "you're growing a beard?"

That question surprised Harry to the point where he leaned across the table to be able to spot the light downy hair starting to show on Malfoy's face.

Draco, on the other hand, brightened at the attention. "Working on it," he said happily, gently stroking the almost invisible fuzz surrounding his mouth. "After all, our Lord says, a beard sets a man's face in its most noble frame."

Seeing both Harry and Ron tense at the mention of Voldemort, he quickly continued, "Actually, what he really says is 'Duuude, yer facial fuzz is bitchin…', he was baked, but I know what he meant."

"The Dark Lord said what?" Ron demanded.

"Dark?" Draco asked confusedly. "I didn't say dark… Way more psychedelic than dark. I suppose he started out kind of dark, but after he went to the Bickershaw Festival in 1972 intending to have a revel, but instead found his true inspiration…" Draco bowed his head and crossed his arms across his chest before intoning: "All Hail the prophet Garcia, and the Weed, and the Acid."

"Preach it little Brother," a new voice broke in. Harry and Ron found that each of them suddenly had an arm thrown over their shoulders, the two of them looked to find that Severus Snape had his head between theirs, and horror of horror, he was smiling. "How are my two favorite Gryffindors this fine morning?"

"P…Professor?" Ron stuttered.

"Chin up Ron," Snape laughed. "And listen to Brother Draco as he tells you of the one true path to happiness…" the man stiffened before continuing in whispers. "Shit! Everyone look straight, probable Narc coming this way."

Harry looked up to find Neville Longbottom approaching the table. What the hell was going on?

"Good morning Mr. Longbottom," Snape said, much too loudly. "And how are you this fine day?"

"Just fine Professor," Neville said in confused tones, as he continued down to the far end of the table. "And you?"

"Oh, fine," Snape declared, "just great. Never been better."

"He's gone," Snape whispered in clear relief while gently stroking his new goatee, "I swear, that kid freaks me the hell out."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **AN: This one started so wonderfully, then I had to go on a business trip and when I got back it just wouldn't start again.**

 **Yeah, with the goatees, I might have been a bit inspired by a certain South Park episode.**

 **I've been playing with various incarnations of a 'paisley' Lord. Tom started out all evil and stuff, then went to a Grateful Dead concert intending to do a bit of murderin'. After suffering from a bit of a contact high, he found himself submerged in the music, then a little acid, and before you know it, he's a Stoner Lord, who spends his time (along with his followers the Acid Droppers) baked out of his gourd.**

 **The bit of Snape terrified by a straight laced Neville is amusing as hell.**

 **If I ever get inspired I may pick it up again, but until then, free to a good home.**


	8. The Assignment

**A/N: I don't own Harry Potter and wouldn't particularly care to. I would like a rental agreement with option to buy for Hermione Granger. A short term contract with Nymphadora Tonks wouldn't be turned down. A Long-term agreement with Luna Lovegood would probably be a whole lot of fun. Any time Padma Patil wants to open negotiations, call me and oh for a weekend with Fleur. Oddly Lavender and Padma's sister (despite being her twin) Parvati do nothing for me…**

 **The Assignment**

The girl stood before her leader and tried not to tremble. She was so honored to be here, so very proud that her achievements had brought her before this man.

The leader looked between her and the file in his hand. His noble features were only enhanced by the scars that covered the left side of his face, over his left eye and up over his scalp. She knew that he had earned those scars in defense of all they held dear, and despite being only eleven (almost twelve) years old, she knew that she loved the man. She loved him with all her heart.

"For the duration of this mission," the leader said, his kind voice causing her heart to skip a beat when he spoke to her, "Your name will be Hermione Granger. Obviously, this is an assignment of utmost importance. Under any normal situation, we would never task someone your age with any sort of mission. However, at this time it is utterly necessary. Fortunately, you have the abilities and drive needed to achieve success."

He manipulated a control on the table before him and one wall of the room lit up with a photograph of a young boy. "This is Harry Potter, 10 years old. Like you, he is a magical adept, and he has been accepted to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will meet and befriend him. He is going to need protection, and we want you to give it to him."

"I don't understand," she said, daring to speak. "Why will he need protection?"

The Leader smiled and manipulated the controls again. The photo on the wall changed from the young boy to a handsome man of middle age, a man with disturbingly red eyes. "This is Tom Riddle, known to British Magical Society as the Dark Lord Voldemort," the Leader suddenly laughed. "No, that isn't true. The vast majority of the cowardly wand users in Britain know him only as 'He Who Must Not Be Named'. Throughout the 1970s, this wizard ran a barely organized resistance to the established government known by the unimaginative name of the 'Death Eaters'. For reasons as yet unknown, on October 31st 1981, Riddle conducted a one man assault one particular family. The Potters."

Again, the photo on the wall changed to a photo of a happy family. The father was a tall bespectacled man with messy black hair. The mother, a tall beautiful red-head with piercing emerald green eyes, in her arms was an infant, who apparently was a mixture of them both, messy dark hair with his mother's eyes and a hint of her cheek bones beneath the baby fat.

"What exactly happened that night is unclear," the leader continued. "What is known is that both of the adult Potters were killed, and Riddle apparently so, leaving the Potter's infant son injured in a destroyed cottage. No one else was there, so of course, rumors of 'what really happened' spread like wildfire through the British Magical Society."

The photograph of Harry Potter returned to the wall. "Harry Potter was proclaimed as the 'Boy Who Lived', and stories of his enduring the unsurvivable killing curse spread through the population in a day."

The photograph faded from the wall and the lights of the room came back up. Hermione, already she was thinking of herself by that name, returned her attention to the man she was devoted to.

"The surviving Death Eaters quickly sorted out into three factions. The true believers, who stay true to their master and ravaged the country trying to locate him, dilettantes, who used their family names and money to purchase their freedom and returned to the society they had been waging war on, and of course, the traitors who turned on their fellows in hopes of securing their own freedom," her leader continued. "Potter has been hidden by obscurity. So few of the wand users know anything of the mundane world that placing the boy with his mother's powerless sister hid him utterly from any of the followers of the fallen Dark Lord that might have done him harm. This obscurity will end when he goes to school."

Hermione nodded, "so, I am to protect Harry Potter because he figures into your plans."

"Exactly," the leader beamed. "It precisely because of your clarity of thought that you were selected for this mission. You will be operating under deep cover, only returning to the fold while out of school, summers, the Yule and Spring holidays. Beyond that, your communication with us will be through coded letters to your 'parents'. You will be further briefed by your mission handlers, report to the quartermaster and requisition your required supplies. Dismissed."

Hermione came to attention, and yearned to offer the traditional salute, but did not. She had not yet earned the right.

 **This one came from Marvel Comics, and was intended to follow Harry and the young, unnamed, woman through a canon-ish telling of Harry's story, with small asides to her 'real life' as she rose within her organization.**

 **Unfortunately, it died out me. After more than 5 years, all I've got is what is posted above, the final punchline, and a lack of interest in continuing it.**

 **The punchline?**

Harry swallowed hard, his wand still firmly in his grip. Hope started to swell within him. Minerva had Dumbledore was back on his feet with his wand also aimed at Voldemort and Bellatrix, with the Dark Lord on his knees, his most faithful Death Eater at his side.

He was going to survive this… then perhaps he and Hermione could find the time to…

Agony flared in his left side, the pain so severe that he couldn't make a sound, his wand falling from his fingers to clatter on the forest floor. Slowly, so slowly, his strength failed and Harry fell to his knees. Dumbledore made a sound of pain before also falling. Voldemort had time to scream before he slumped to the floor in death.

Harry rolled from his knees to lay on his back, finding himself looking up at his assailant. It made no sense… it couldn't be Hermione holding the bloody knife. It couldn't be.

Harry's last thoughts were wasted noticing an aircraft of some kind landing nearby, so close he could feel the heat of the engines as they spun down.

The young woman known as Hermione Granger looked over to Minerva McGonagall, and then to Bellatrix Lestrange. The three women nodded and raised their bloody knives in salute to the man who exited the aircraft.

As one they offered the salute. "Hail Hydra!"

 **So, yeah. Cliché, I know, but just the sort of crap Hydra did in dozens of comics, both Captain America and Nick Fury: Agent of Shield.**

 **Harry's always getting to be an agent, why couldn't Hermione? Okay, so maybe not an agent you would want to hang out with, but still…**

 **Free to a good home.**


	9. Hermione Granger and the IFoPFS

**Hermione Granger and the IFoPFS**

 **A/N: This one was inspired by Meteoricshipyards' Evil Summer Vacation. Inspired as in, I filed off the serial numbers and changed a few details. Instead of Harry, it's Hermione who ends up at a convention… but at least this one isn't an Evil Convention. The scene: Voldemort is finished, the Trio is back at school for their 7** **th** **year…**

A supremely proud Hermione Granger entered the Grand Ballroom of the Savoy.

Three days before a ticket to the conference being hosted at the Savoy was hand delivered to her at Hogwarts along with a note from the Headmistress saying she was excused from classes to attend the event.

The eighteen year old wasn't sure what to make of this. She was relatively used to being allowed special educational opportunities, the time turner in her third year for example, but to be signed up for an educational conference… she was going to have to do her best.

"Good morning," the young woman at the check in desk said with a wide smile.

Hermione hid her surprise that the conference would be staffed by Yanks. "Good morning, Hermione Granger checking in for the conference."

"Oh, yes," the woman said keying the name into her computer. "There you are. Do you have your invitation?"

Hermione presented her ticket. The woman verified the invitation, "I see you haven't signed up for any of the panels yet."

"I wasn't sure what panels would be offered," Hermione explained.

"Not to worry," the woman said, handing over several pamphlets. "Most people don't submit their requests until after the opening session. Look these over and make your decisions. Welcome to the thirty fifth annual Conference of the IFoPFS."

Again the woman smiled and continued. "The Opening Session is in two hours, most of our attendees are waiting in the bar."

Hermione nodded and started off in the general direction of the bar, already thumbing through the pamphlets. Upon entering the room she snagged a large glass of orange juice and a bagel from one of the catering tables before surveying the room for a place to sit.

The room was nearly full, though the closest table was occupied by a single young woman with shockingly pink hair.

Earlier in her life, Hermione would have avoided anyone so desperate for attention, but exposure to Nymphadora Tonks had taught her a few things.

"Mind if I join you?" Hermione asked the pinky as she approached the table. "Everywhere else is full."

The pink haired girl looked up with a glower, "Why the hell not?" she asked rhetorically. "It's not like you could make today any worse."

Setting her pamphlets, bagel and drink down, Hermione took the chair next to the odd girl. "Hermione Granger," she said in way of introduction.

"Sakura Haruno," the other girl responded.

"Really?" Hermione asked, surprised in spite of herself.

"You've heard of me?" Sakura asked.

"Well…" Hermione hesitated, "no, not really. I was just surprised by your name, I mean it sounds like a Japanese name, but you don't appear to be Asian at all, pale skin, green eyes, pink hair…"

The pink haired girl growled and made a fist with her right hand. For a moment Hermione wondered if she was going to be attacked, but then Sakura relaxed.

"There's more to the world that most people know," she said in a clipped tone, showing that some of her annoyance remained. "I come from a land where all the races coexist, sharing a common language that is similar to but different from the language you know as Japanese."

"Oh," Hermione said, embarrassed by her assumption. "Sorry."

A waiter appeared, depositing small porcelain bottle in front of Sakura along with a smallish porcelain cup. The Pinkie nodded her thanks and poured a serving of the contents of the bottle into the cup before tipping the cup back.

"You seem to be upset," Hermione commented, "could I help?"

Sakura glared at the bushy haired witch for a moment before her expression softened and she sighed. "I shouldn't be blaming you," she said. "I'm just upset that I was assigned to come to this stupid conference, even if the Hokage did classify it as B class mission."

"Upset?" Hermione asked, wondering who or what a 'Hokage' might be and how attending a conference might in any way be a 'mission'. "Why would you be upset?"

"Because Sakura Haruno said, her voice rising almost to the level of a scream, "I am NOT Naruto Uzumaki's Perky Female Sidekick, and I am likely to kill anyone who says I am!"

 **-oooOOOooo-**

"Keep telling yourself that Sweetheart."

Hermione looked up to see a tall dark skinned woman in a white minidress and a pair of pistols slung in holsters on either side of her admittedly massive breasts.

"This is my third time at one of these conferences, kid," the woman said tipping back a highball glass full of some amber liquid before settling into one of the table's empty chairs. "If you're here, you're a sidekick. We're all perky goddamned sidekicks."

She placed her half empty glass on the table before looking down at her own breasts. "Some of us are perkier than others."

"Who are you and what is this 'perky sidekick' nonsense?" Hermione asked.

"Lana Kane, sweetie," the woman grinned. "And what do you think IFoPFS stands for?"

"Oh, that's on the brochures," Hermione said, as she rooted through her welcome bag. "IFoPFS… The International Federation of…" her eyes went wide.

"Of Perky Female Sidekicks" Lana finished for her raising her glass in salute. "It's always hilarious to see the realization dawn on the faces of the newbys."

"I am not Harry Potter's sidekick," Hermione said in tones of certainty.

"Of course you're not," Lana said condescendingly. "Look, it's a week in London, open bar, great food, all free. All you have to do is show up for three different seminars a day, and the final presentation Friday morning. Every gig should be so cushie."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **So this is where I ran out of steam. Below are some of the seminar sessions that Caer Azkaban and Deluded Muse newsgroups helped me out with.**

Dressing to distract his enemies: If you've got it, flaunt it.

Convincing yourself that he'll realize you're the one while bedding the Overlord's daughter: Delusion as a career choice.

You and the Comedy Relief: Sometimes a girl has to settle.

Non-Standard Applications: You and your Hero - Battlefield stress relief.  
"A calm and focused hero is a winning hero."

'Getting Yourself Kidnapped to Gain the Hero's Attention'

 _"Taking one for the team: The ultimate distraction of the enemy forces"_

Doing All The Work: Because He's too lazy/stupid to do it.

Planning for Disaster: With him as a friend, it's not a matter of luck, it's a guarantee!

How to be a Proper Foil: Compensating for your hero's weaknesses without upstaging him

Secrets of a Soundboard: Getting your hero to speak about his thoughts and feelings

Being Approachable (so your hero doesn't have to)

Research Skills for the Supporting Role

Emotional Support for the Strong, Silent Types

Acting Dumb to Make Your Hero Appear Smarter

His Plan + You: How to keep him thinking it was all his idea even with corrections.

Lines of Seduction: When NOT to interfere with his fun.

The Good, The Bad, The Ego: when to stroke it, when to bury it.

First Strike: When is it appropriate to take down his coworkers.

Target: Fashion: What to wear to make sure the enemy aims at you first.

Of course he forgot to bring it: Accessorizing for your hero's success

Advanced High Kick Technique: Lace or Commando?

Deep Vees and Double-Sided Tape: Showing What You've Got but Not Everything You've Got

Retirement Savings - Because you know he'll kick you to the curb when you're not so perky anymore

No, You Don't Have What It Takes: home truths for the spunky girl sidekick who thinks she should be in charge

Bondservants and Slaves: Managing your master's minions.

Playing Second Fiddle: Getting your hero rewarded by damsels in distress.

What to do when your carefully thought out plans are trumped by the hero's stupidly good luck

Who needs plaudits? How to deal with the hero getting all the credit for your hard work

Dress for the role: how to make your A-cup look bigger than the opposition's DDs

How to spend your entire life in high heels

Staying Safe: Lessons You Should Learn from Robin the Boy Hostage

How to Deal With Doing All the Work and Getting No Credit

Media Relations - How to Draw All the Negative Attention and Keep Him in Their Good Graces

His Fatal Flaw and How You Can Work Around It

Clothing Care: Getting and Keeping Offending Fluids Off Your Costume

Respecting Your Captain: How To Deal With Him 'Kirking' It Up

Makeup Techniques to Make Him Look Good In Comparison

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **And this is my ending.**

 **-oooOOOooo-**

"Hermione's back!" Ron noted when he looked up from the chessboard and spotted her entering the common room.

"Hey Hermione," Harry called out turning to face her. "Glad you're back. Ron's just beat me for the 928th consecutive time."

Hermione stomped up to her best friends, everything she had learned about life and herself over the last week still fresh in her mind. "I want to make few things perfectly clear," she said.

Harry and Ron exchanged a look, "Okay," Harry nodded.

"I am not your sidekick," Hermione said in tones that invited no debate, "and I am not interested in settling for the comedy relief." She looked back and forth between the two boys. "Am I clear?"

"Oh yeah," Ron nodded.

"Sure," Harry agreed.

"Good," Hermione nodded. "I'm heading upstairs to get cleaned up, and then we can go down to dinner so you two can tell me what I missed while I was away."

Harry and Ron watched as she disappeared up the stairs to the girls' dorms.

"What do you suppose that was about?" Harry asked.

"Hell if I know," Ron said shaking his head. "She's not our sidekick? I thought we were her sidekicks."

"So did I," Harry agreed, "Well, at least we know which of us she's chosen."

"Yeah," Ron said sadly. "I can't say it was unexpected, I just didn't expect her to be so harsh about it."

"Yeah," Harry agreed again, "well, treat her the way she deserves, or I'll kick your ass."

"What?" Ron asked.

"What?" Harry repeated.

"Hermione clearly said she wasn't interested in the comedy relief," Ron pointed out.

"Right," Harry nodded. "And I'm clearly the funny one of our group."

"You?" Ron asked, momentarily at a loss for words, "You actually think you're funnier than me?"

"Ron," Harry said gently, "You're about as funny as one of the Twins' rubber chicken wands. Which is to say, not at all."

"What are you on about?" Ron demanded. "Those rubber chicken wands are hilarious, and so am I."

"Yeah right," Harry said, looking about the common room. "Hey Dean, is Ron funny?"

"Well," the Londoner said, considering his words carefully. "Funny looking maybe."

"Definitely funny looking," Seamus agreed helpfully.

"Thank you," Harry said before turning back to Ron in triumph. "There you have it, empirical proof that I'm the funny one and Hermione dumped me, so if you don't treat her right, I'll kick your arse."

"No," Ron disagreed. "I'm the comedy relief and she dumped me, and if you don't treat her right, I'll kick _**your**_ arse!"

"Oh," Harry scoffed, pushing Ron off the sofa, "like you could."

"Oh, I could," Ron said as he regained his feet. "You really want to find out, Potter?"

Harry rose to his feet and thumped himself on the chest with both hands. "Bring it, you unfunny ginger git!"

"Unfunny?" Ron asked incredulously, "that's it Potter, you're going down!"

 **-oooOOOooo-**

Hermione returned from her dorm to find the common room in a shambles, furniture overturned, the bulk of her housemates lining the walls of the common room, and Harry, with broken glasses, a blackened eye and bloodied nose holding an equally damaged Ron in what she recognized from her father's disgraceful fascination with televised wrestling as a 'headlock'.

"What the hell is going on here?" she demanded.

"Hermione," Harry said, brightening when he saw her. "Good news, Ron has admitted that I'm the funny one and that you've dumped me and that now that you've made your choice, he'll treat you well. Right, Ron?"

Ron was silent, still struggling against Harry's hold. In response to his friend's silence, Harry tightened his hold and twisted slightly.

"Right, Ron?"

"Ow!" Ron responded. "Yes, damn it, Harry's the comedy relief."

"And?" Harry asked, applying a bit more pressure.

"And I'll treat Hermione like a goddess," Ron answered.

"Now, was that so hard?" Harry asked, releasing Ron.

Hermione looked from Harry to Ron and then back again for several seconds before speaking. "You two are such idiots."

Turning on her heel, she headed for the door, wondering if it was too late to give lesbianism a try. She had heard good things and it seemed unlikely that she could possibly find a girlfriend as stupid as her two best friends.

Before the door closed behind her she could clearly hear Ron getting the last word.

"I told you Hermione thought I was funny," he insisted.

 **A/N: Free to a good home if anyone thinks they can pull it together.**


	10. The Labors of Neville Longbottom

This is my attempt at a 'Badass Neville' story. It started out well, trying to show how pudgy doormat Neville became the guy who killed the last Horcrux. It was going to be a sort of 'megacrossover' with Neville's advancements happening while he stood in for various heroes in various other stories.

I had in mind a 'Naruto' crossover where Nev will stand in for Rock Lee in the Lee/Garra fight which he ends by using a 'glassmaker' spell to remove Garra's Sand from the equation, but I haven't managed to write a word on this story for years.

Anyway, available for adoption if anyone wants it:

 **The Labors of Neville Longbottom.**

The woman looked up from her paperwork and a smile formed on her lips.

"Loki, good of you to come."

The man entering the office raised an eyebrow. "Hello Skuld, I'm surprised to find you alone. I don't think I've ever seen you without your sisters."

"This is a one Norn job," the ageless woman admitted. "But, as it turns out, I need your help."

"My help?" Loki Odinson asked slumping into the chair in front of the desk. "Since when do I help anyone?"

"It isn't a request," a new voice rumbled in the room. "You are going to help Loki, because I would be somewhat annoyed if you didn't."

A bit of terror formed in pit of the Asgardian's stomach when he recognized the speaker, a Being as far above him as he was above the mortals of Midgard. Loki rose to his feet. "My apologies, I had no idea you were here."

"Sit down you idiot," the Being said. "What's with the helmet? Since when do you wear _horns_?"

"It's just an affectation," Loki admitted. "The mortals of Midgard have a work of graphical fiction dedicated to my adopted brother, and this is how they portray me. They get almost everything wrong, but I started wearing this because it annoys Thor so."

"I see," the Being said with a nod. "Skuld, explain what you need from Loki."

"Well, you see," Skuld said in a hesitant tone, "I decided to strike out on my own, so I asked for a reassignment to the general fate department."

"General fate?" Loki asked, confused.

"We Nornir have always specialized in the fates of Asgardians and our followers, which was great when our Vikings were roaming the seas, pillaging and waging wars, but the work load has really fallen off recently."

"So out of boredom, you struck out on your own," Loki suggested.

"Well, yeah," Skuld nodded. "Urd and Verandi are always going on about tradition and honor and whatnot, so they're pissed at me, but I needed something to do, you know?"

"So, what did you do?"

I was assigned a group of magical mortals to plot out, a big human scale adventure with a hero and a pair of sidekicks and assorted villains and extras. So I was working through the plot and decided to add a secondary hero, I mean since the kid almost became the hero himself only to lose out to the main villain's last minute choice, I gave him a couple heroic scenes."

Loki sighed. Heroes were always trouble, and wannabe heroes were even worse.

"And this has become my problem why?"

"Well," the woman blushed, let me show you his ultimate act of heroism…"

A battle scene shimmered into existence over the desk. Loki watched with a detached interest as the mortal who was the obvious villain carried on with his monolog standing next to a youth, apparently the young secondary hero, who was struggling under some sort of paralysis.

"I see most of the crowd dressed in the robes of European wand wizards," Loki commented as the playback froze. "What is that the kid's wearing?"

"That?" Skuld asked. "Oh, that's the Traditional Longbottom Battle Cardigan. Passed down in his family for centuries." She started searching through the mass of papers on her desk, "I've got a wonderful backstory for it here somewhere, the cardigan is instrumental to his surviving what comes next."

The play back resumed as the villain produced an old floppy hat, and set it afire before setting the flaming hat on the boy's head, setting the boy's body on fire.

In a fluid motions, the young man broke free of whatever paralytic spell that was upon him; pulling the flaming hat from his head and he drew from its depths something silver, with a glittering, rubied handle…

The display of the battle was silent, so the slash of the silver blade could not be heard. Nor any of the sounds that should have been heard from the oncoming crowds of magic users, or the sounds of the clashing giants, or of the stampeding centaurs, and yet, Loki could not pull his eyes away from the sweep of the blade through the air. With a single stroke, the young hero sliced off the giant snake's head, which spun high into the air, gleaming in the light flooding from the castle, and the villain's mouth was open in a silent scream of fury that went unheard as the snake's body thudded to the ground at his feet.

-oooOOOooo-

"Well," Loki said after a few moments of silence. "The whelp certainly has the hero thing down."

"Yep," Skuld agreed. "Can I write, or can I write?"

"So, what's the problem?" Loki asked. "What do you need me for?"

"It seems that our author has written herself into a corner," the Supreme Being said sarcastically. "She has the beginning and the ending, but no way to connect the two."

"What?" Loki asked, clearly not understanding.

"This is young Neville's first important scene in the story," Skuld said as she caused a new image to shimmer into place over her desk.

"Neville?" Loki asked.

"Yes, Neville Longbottom," she agreed.

"Well, Loki grumped as the scene started, "with a name like that, he's got some Norse blood in him anyway."

Loki focused on the image, taking in the three boys and one young girl.

-oooOOOooo-

"You don't understand," said the dark haired boy was saying, "this is important."

However, the pudgy boy, presumably 'Neville' was clearly steeling himself to do something desperate.

"I won't let you do it," he said, hurrying to stand in front of the doorway, raising his fists in a pale imitation of a boxer's pose. "I'll… I'll fight you!"

" _Neville_ ," the redhead exploded, "get away from that hole and don't be an idiot…"

"Don't you call me an idiot!" said Neville. "I don't think you should be breaking any more rules! And you were the one who told me to stand up to people!"

"Yeah, but not to _us_ " the redhead said in exasperation. "Neville, you don't know what you're doing."

He took a step forward and Neville dropped a toad, who leapt out of sight. "Go on then, try and hit me!" said Neville, raising his fists higher. "I'm ready!"

The dark haired boy turned to the girl.

"Do _something_ ," he said desperately.

The girl stepped forward. "Neville," she said, raising her wand. "I'm really, really sorry about this."

" _Petrificus Totalus!"_ she cried.

Neville's arms snapped to his sides. His legs sprang together. His whole body rigid, he swayed where he stood and then fell flat on his face, stiff as a board.

Hermione ran to turn him over. Neville's jaws were jammed together so he could not speak. Only his eyes were moving, looking at them in horror.

"What've you done to him?" the dark haired boy whispered.

"It's the full Body-Bind," she explained miserably. "Oh, Neville, I'm so sorry."

"We had to, Neville, no time to explain," the dark haired boy said apologetically.

"You'll understand later, Neville," the redhead agreed as they stepped over him and the trio crowded under an invisibility cloak.

-oooOOOooo-

"That was your hero?" Loki asked incredulously.

"There is a certain bravery in standing up to your friends," the Being pointed out.

"I'll have to take your word for it," Loki laughed. "Never had the knack for making friends myself. So, what am I supposed to do."

"I'm going to be busy concentrating on getting the main hero ready for his destiny," Skuld explained. "When I upgraded Neville, I never put any thought into how he was to be ready for his shining moment."

"You will be guiding young Neville from his current state to the dashing hero the story needs him to be." The Being said.

"All right," Loki sighed. "How long do I have?"

"A bit more than 6 years."

"You're joking," Loki asked hopefully. "From baby fat and people walking over him to giant snake slaying hero in just six years? It can't be done."

"It will be done," the Being said quietly.

"Fine," Loki sighed. "I'll haul the brat off to Jotunheim for a few years, that ought to make a hero out of him."

"No," Skuld disagreed. "Neville is important to the plot. He can't leave."

"I'm afraid I agree," the Being nodded. "The boy must remain with those of his kind, but you can still train him Loki, you can have his dreams."

"So, I've got six years of dreams to completely change this boy?"

"You do," the Being agreed. "Six years, his dreams, and the limits of the multiverse. A fitting challenge for the Trickster God, no?"

"You already know what I'm going to do don't you?" Loki asked.

"Of course I do, and remember Loki Odinson, I am not your adopted father, nor am I your idiot brother. Don't even think about fucking with me. Just do your job. You might actually enjoy it."

-oooOOOooo-

The Dreamscape was as without form as he remembered it. Loki sighed quietly as he looked down at the youngling he was tasked with molding into a hero. The boy's dream-self lay curled into a ball on the featureless plain.

The boy's dreams had yet to start, so there was nothing to do but wait. The Trickster bided his time while waiting by playing with his seax, flipping the blade between the fingers of his left hand while trying to think of an appropriate way to introduce the boy to his destiny.

"What are you doing in this domain, Asgardian?"

Loki turned his gaze to the speaker, "What business might it be of yours, Phobetor? Loki goes where he will."

The Nightmare god rose to his full height, seeking, no doubt, to intimidate. Loki who ruled Ice Giants was unimpressed.

"The boy is mine," Phobetor thundered. "He has been mine since he watched his parents tortured into insanity, since he felt the pain magic of the mortal magicians. I own his nights, and once I break his mind, I will own his days as well."

"Nay," Loki said lazily. "Your ownership is voided from upon high. He is now mine. You will need to find yourself a new playtoy."

"You dare?" Phobetor shrieked, "you dare to claim dominion here?"

"I dare much," Loki admitted as he drove his seax into the stomach of the lessor god, the blade sliding in to the hilt, where, just because he could, Loki gave it a twist before pulling it out.

"You stabbed me," the Terror of the Night gasped as he fell to his knees.

"As usual, your grasp of the obvious is beyond reproach," Loki snarked as he wiped his blade on the lessor god's cloak. "You are out of your depth here Phobetor, go away, or I will not be so merciful next time."

Phobetor regained his feet and stumbled away, "I will have my revenge!" He swore from what he imagined was a safe distance.

"That fool has absolutely no style," Loki sighed as he turned his attention back to the boy, only to be surprised to find himself looking into a pair of very wide eyes.

"You beat the monster!" the boy said, almost reverently. "He always said that no one could save me, but you did."

Loki's breath caught in his throat. It had been so long since the last of his cult had died, that he had forgotten the rush of being worshiped. This was NOT part of his plan.

-oooOOOooo-

"So, you're going to make me stronger?"

Loki hesitated before answering. What was the best way to respond? "You are the descendant of Norsemen," he said, "You are strong, you just need to understand your strength."


	11. Family

The day had, Harry reflected later, been going fairly well too.

It was a Wednesday, and as school days go, Wednesdays tended to be the least troublesome. It started with his waking at the time that had become his normal time to rise. A shower, nice and hot, followed by breakfast without having to wait too long for Ron to drag his lazy carcass out of bed.

Then classes spoiled the day, but not too much. Transfiguration and Charms before lunch. His favorite Shepherd's pie at lunch. Four different classmates predicted his prolonged and painful death in Divination. No one beyond Harry and Ron seemed to notice that all four versions of his death appeared to be in major conflict with each other, given that each had a different time, place, and method of his shuffling from the mortal coil. The school day ended with a double potions, during which of course, Neville's potion started doing things that it wasn't supposed to do, and doing them in a spectacular manner, and Harry receiving a points deduction for them.

A basic, normal Hogwarts Wednesday.

Harry was beginning to relax, settling down to the roast chicken and potatoes for his supper, when _something_ started to happen between the staff table and the four house tables.

At first, it was a pinpoint of blinding white light. The point of light hovered in mid-air, approximately five feet off the floor. Students and Staff alike drew their wands and shaded their eyes with their non-dominate hands.

That was when the sound started, an echoing warble that seemed to sit in your chest and vibrate your lungs.

Harry looked to the enchanted ceiling and sighed. "Son of a BITCH!"

"Harry!" Hermione hissed from his side. "Language!"

"What's wrong Harry?" Ron asked.

"This has something to do with me," He responded, really starting to dread what he knew was coming.

"What do you mean something to do with you?" Hermione demanded.

"It's always something to do with me. Every damned time. The weird arsed thing that happens is never for Malfoy, it is never about Bones, it's never about any of the professors. It's always about me."

"We get involved sometimes too Harry," Neville pointed out.

"Because you get sucked into my life," Harry said dismissively. "Trust me, this thing is going to latch onto me somehow."

The light winked out, at first it seemed that everyone had spots before their eyes, but it soon became apparent that the pinpoint of light had been replaced by a pinpoint of utter blackness.

The tiny disk of black did not remain a pinpoint for long, as it began expanding, until after several minutes it was a disk seven foot across.

The Staff rose from their seats and approached the disk, their wands out. The assembled students watched as the staff, from Dumbledore to Trelawney each cast upon the disk of darkness and it was obvious from their reactions that they were not getting responses that they expected.

"Ah, screw it," Harry said. "It's about me, it probably needs me to be close before it can let the rabid dragon through whatever kind of portal that is. If I leave, it will probably follow me. I'm going to see what this is all about."

Harry shoved himself to his feet and was utterly unsurprised when Ron and Hermione rose to follow him.

"Get back to your seat Potter," McGonagall said when she spotted them.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for being so arrogant that you think you can determine what this is," Snape sneered, until his eyes narrowed. "Unless you caused it."

"Harry, do you know what this is?" Dumbledore asked.

Before Harry could start to answer, the disk billowed outwards and a person stepped out of it with a wet sucking sound. Once she was out of the disk, it disappeared like a soap bubble popping.

"Whoa, watch that first step," the young woman said. "It's a doozy."

Harry's eyes narrowed. This woman looked almost like an… an older, much chestier, Hermione. This woman made Sue Bones look like a first year.

"Bloody Hell," Ron whispered. He had seen it too.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Miss…" Dumbledore said, his eyes widening in recognition. "Juliet?"

"Fuck you Albus," the woman said dismissively. "You didn't really think you could get rid of me did you? I'm back, baby. And this time, I'm staying. I've got a family to reconnect to, and…" she looked around the room, locking eyes with Harry.

Here it comes, Harry thought. And he was right.

"Harry!" this Juliet woman proclaimed joyously. "Come here, lover!"

Harry found himself with an armload of very attractive woman with her tongue in his mouth. As vicious attacks went, this one was a pretty nice.

"Get your hands off him!" Hermione shouted.

"Hermione?" the woman asked as she returned custody of Harry's tonsils to their owner, moving to hug her as she had Harry, though without the kiss. "How's my baby sister?"

"What?" Hermione demanded in confusion. "I don't have a sister…"

Juliet held Hermione at arm's length. "What do you mean you don't have a sister? Hermione, it's me, Julie."

Seeing the total lack of recognition in the younger woman's eyes, Juliet wheeled to face Dumbledore. "Albus, what the fuck did you do?"

"Why did you kiss Harry," Hermione demanded, too upset to correct the young woman's language.

"Why wouldn't I kiss Harry, Sis?" Juliet asked wrapping herself around Harry again. "He's my husband."

"Headmaster," Hermione demanded. "What did you do?"

"Wait, wait, wait." Harry said, trying to get everyone's attention. "We're _married_?"

"We sure are," the woman said, pulling his face into her cleavage. "Or will be. Time travel is such a pain."

"Will be?" Harry asked, his voice muffled by the bountiful flesh he was semi-embedded in.

"In about five years by your perspective. Two years ago by mine."

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron said in a shocked tone. "You were right."

"And what do you believe him to be right about Weasley?" Snape ground out through clenched teeth.

"It really is all about him."

So, yeah. This was going to be a somewhat perverted Harry gets laid, a lot, story, but it pooped out.

I managed to salvage part of it for my 'Hermione's daughter comes back for revenge' story in my oneshot box but I've always wished this had gone somewhere.

Juliet Granger/Potter was going to be larger than life, lusty, horny, and just as smart as her younger sister, with a few bones to pick with poor misunderstood Albus.

I mean, Harry most always gets crapped on in Fics, even when he wins. Why not have an uninhibited woman come into his life and have him hang on for dear life?


	12. Connections

**Connections**

"Drop your wands!" Potter shouted as he entered the heavily warded chamber followed by the Order and the few Aurors that the Ministry had offered for this final assault on the forces of Voldemort.

Lucius Malfoy raised his wand, and died messily, his internal organs liquefied and sprayed across the chamber and his fellow Death Eaters.

"They had their chance. Take them!" Mad Eye Moody called from his right and the Order immediately began casting against the cloaked murderers. It took only a second or two for the Aurors to join in. The Chamber quickly became an abattoir as each side went out of its way to slaughter the other.

Severus Snape was suddenly in front of his wand. "As arrogant as ever Potter! Now you die!"

He distracted his former classmate with a billowing of his robes, much like a bullfighter would distract a bull with his cape. A thundering left flattened the hooked nose of Voldemort's Potions Master, dropping the greasy bastard to his knees. An ice spear flew from his wand to Snape's chest, running the Half Blood Prince through. "You always did talk too much Snape," he said as he watched the light fade from the bastard's eyes. That was when his scar erupted into an ocean of pain. "Riddle's here," he ground out through clinched teeth.

"So kill the Bastard, Potter," Moody barked. "Do you need me to hold your hand?"

Potter ignored the ancient Master Auror, scanning the room for Tom Riddle, the man who had taken so much from him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Remus Lupin end the life of Peter Pettigrew.

"Come on out Riddle!" he called. "Your financier is dead, your Potions Master is dead, even your backstabbing rat is dead, face me you coward."

The few Death Eaters still standing blanched at the thought of anyone daring to call their Dark Lord a coward, yet Voldemort still didn't appear.

"Oh no you don't, cousin," Sirius' voice came from behind him, followed by a meaty thump. He spared enough of his attention to note that Sirius had prevented Bellatrix from hexing him in the back by the simple expediency of smacking her upside the head with a table leg.

"Now your bitch is down Riddle, how many of your people do we have to kill before you face me?"

Voldemort appeared in the center of the room with a clap of thunder and a wave of force that dropped everyone in the room to the floor in a body bind. Everyone except Potter.

"Are you so ready to die boy?" the evil bastard asked.

"I've been ready since you killed my family in '81 Riddle. What about you? Are you done hiding behind women and children you coward?"

"You dare?"

"I dare more than that, 'Lord Runs from Death'," all around them Potter sensed the surviving members of the Order and the few remaining Aurors rising to their feet, wands at the ready. Sensing the signal that preparations were complete, Potter began walking around the Dark Lord, working off the excitement that after more than fifteen years, finally coming into a final confrontation with Tom Riddle. "Come on Riddle, it's time for you to die."

As usual Riddle led with a cruciatus. The man was so bloody predictable. Dodging the sickly yellow curse, Potter responded with a blasting curse to the flooring in front of the Dark Lord. The evil bastard's lower body was shredded by the resulting splinters from the oak floor. Riddle screamed in pain and cast a banisher that Potter caught in the chest, causing the younger man to slam into the wall behind him hard enough that he saw stars.

"I will kill you Potter, I will kill everyone you love."

"You're too late coward," the last scion of House Potter spat as his wand twitching in the pattern of a summoner.

"Crucio!"

Potter's world was suddenly awash with pain, but as suddenly as it had started, the pain stopped. Potter blinked away the tears that had filled his eyes to see that Voldemort was on his knees, with a foot long shard of window glass thrust through his neck, emerging from the mad man's throat.

He rose shakily to his feet, his hands still shaking from the unforgivable, as Riddle's body went through its death spasms, finally a black mist rose from the former Dark Lord. "No running away coward, not this time," Potter hissed as his wand moved in an intricate pattern. "Anima Capere!" he called.

A globe of silver energy enclosed the black mist that was all that remained of Tom Riddle. A thin band of magic tied the silver globe to Potter's wand, which was now held in both hands.

"Now Mad-Eye!" Potter paused while the copper kettle slid to a stop in front of him. Copper had been chosen carefully for the bonding medium. Struggling with the orb containing Voldemort's essence, he slowly forced the sphere of magic onto the kettle. "Vinculum Animi!" he chanted, bonding Tom Riddle's soul to the copper vessel.

"Ok," he said panting from the exertion. "He's bonded to the kettle. Get the box!"

Moody levitated a small iron box in front of the kettle, and with great care Potter levitated the kettle into the box, then a lid was placed on the box and melted into place. The only way into the box now was the small hole in the middle of the lid.

Potter stuck his wand through the hole and incanted "Anima Perdree!"

A bright light pulsed inside the box, and Potter pulled his wand free. Remus filled the hole with an iron plug and melted it into place.

Sirius pulled the Man Who Won into a hug. "It's over," the dog animagus sobbed, it's finally over."

"Not yet Black," Moody barked. "Not until I personally throw what's left of this bastard through the veil. "Good job Potter." the old man nodded as the Aurors gathered the Dark Lord's destroyed body and the iron box that contained what was left of Riddle's soul.

Potter just stood in Black's embrace until Remus joined them. "Now what do I do?" he asked his oldest friends.

"You won't be bored." Remus promised.

"We'll see to that," Sirius agreed.

"But, what do I do now?" Potter asked again.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

Severus Snape stood disillusioned in the shadows, being very careful not to move, as he watched the carnage. The Death Eaters were being destroyed, and there was nothing he could do that might make a difference.

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. This wasn't Dumbledore's plan at all. The Death Eaters were to be shown the error of their path, not outright killed. He watched as Sirius Black shredded Peter Pettigrew with a spell so very dark that Snape didn't even recognize what it was. Moody was there as well, taking horrible damage, yet dealing out even more, moving in ways that a one legged man should never be capable to doing. Moody seemingly went out of his way to prove this when he crushed the fallen Lucius Malfoy's head under his wooden leg

Lupin moved through the crowd in that odd almost transformed state of his, dealing violence as he flowed from Death Eater to Death Eater. The Were came to a sudden stop in front of Snape, obviously not fooled for a second by the disillusionment charm. "Stay out of this Severus. They haven't decided what to do with you yet."

After Lupin moved back into the fight, Snape's attention was drawn to… Potter. Not Lily any longer, she was Potter... Potter was focused on the Dark Lord to the exclusion of all else. Moving like a dancer Potter slipped in and out of Voldemort's guard, striking, and then moving beyond the Dark Lord's reach. It was something that Snape had never expected to see. Unable to match the Dark Lord in power, Potter was using speed and finesse, and Voldemort was losing.

But that was... impossible.

Bellatrix finally made her appearance, materializing behind Potter and beginning the incantation for the killing curse, only to be interrupted when Alice Longbottom, Potter's constant companion for the last decade and a half appeared and slid a knife between the crazed witch's ribs. The shock of the blade robbed Lestrange of her voice, and she sunk to her knees.

Longbottom followed the murderous witch to the floor and continued to use her blade on the woman who had killed her husband and child, insuring that Bellatrix's passing was as slow and painful as humanly possible.

An odd sound pulled Snape's attention back to Potter and the Dark Lord. Both of the combatants were battered, burnt and bleeding at this point, but Potter wasn't slowing down in the slightest. The odd sound came from the odd rectangular shape in Potter's left hand, it buzzed and spit and a bluish fire seemed to dance at one end. Once again Potter dodged inside the Dark Lord's defenses and pushed the blue fire into Voldemort's neck.

Immediately the Dark Lord stiffened and seemed to be looking skyward in a silent scream before falling to the floor in convulsions. Potter pressed the blue fire to his neck again, and a third time. The odd buzzing stopped and Potter reached to her belt and pulled another of the rectangles out. The buzzing began anew and the blue fire was applied three more times.

"That should keep you entertained for a few moments Tom," she said as she carefully carved a runic symbol onto his forehead.

"Wha... wha... what di. di. did you do t. t. t. to me?" the Dark Lord slurred.

"Just a little Muggle device called a taser," Potter explained, turning Voldemort's bald head to inscribe a rune over his left temple.

"The Death Eaters are down Lass," Moody called from his position by the door. "Do that hoo doo you've got planned."

"Working on it Mad-Eye," Potter called, her attention never shifting from the rune set she was physically carving on the Dark Lord's skull.

"Yo can't kil me!" Voldemort protested as he fought to regain control of his body. "I am imm immm immm..."

"Immortal, yes I know," Potter said as she finished the rune set over the man's right temple. "Believe me, killing you is the very last thing I want to do. You killed my husband, you killed my son, you killed my unborn daughter. You and your Death Eaters have causes so much pain and suffering that I've decided that death is too good for you. You're going to be punished, punished like no wizard has ever been punished, and with any luck, your punishment will last forever."

"Wha..t .t are you going to do to me?"

"Well, I'm Muggleborn, you know? That means I know of things that most wizards have never thought of. Not you, of course, being a halfblood the way you are, but you cut yourself off from the Muggle world back in the 1940s, and there has been a been a few changes since then. I was reading a Muggle spy novel and there was an example of an interrogation technique that used Sensory Deprivation to break people so that they would tell their secrets. It seems that being alone without sound or light or sensation is very hard on the mind. It's said that only the strongest of men could last longer than a few days in such an environment. So I thought that I would try that on you."

"What do you mean?"

"The runes I've drawn will inhibit almost all of your higher brain functions. Sight, hearing, smell, taste, conscious motor control, heat, cold, touch. All gone, leaving you alone with just your thoughts forever," the woman smiled down at the incapacitated Dark Lord. "I wonder how long you'll last like that. How long until you go mad?"

"You can't win woman!" Voldemort screamed, having regained enough control to lose his stutter if not regain control of his limbs. "No matter what you do to my senses, I will regain them!"

"No, happily you won't," Lily Potter said. "When I said 'inhibit' I misspoke. What I mean was, my rune sets will puree' those portions of your mind, you'll be alive, but no force on earth can heal what I'm going to do to you," she reached out with her wand to touch her wand to the initializing rune on the Dark Lord's forehead. "Goodbye Tom."

Voldemort arched his back and screamed until he suddenly went limp and silent.

Silence owned the chamber for several moments broken only by the moans of the wounded and dying.

"Is it over then?" Sirius asked

"No," Lily shook her head as she stood up, reaching down to pull Alice to her feet. "It's not over just yet," she turned to face the disillusioned Severus Snape. "Is it Severus?"

Snape swallowed noisily and dropped the disillusionment charm. "I was a spy for Dumbledore."

"I'm sure you were," Lily said as the two women approached. "Just as I'm sure you were the one who told Voldemort the prophecy that set him on our families. It is because of you that James and Harry were slaughtered in our home. It is because of you Frank and Neville were killed," she pulled at the collar of her cloak revealing the angry red scar that ran from her throat disappearing between her breasts. "It was because of you I've worn this for fifteen years."

"Why do you suppose we timed our attack for when you would be at one of his meetings Severus?" Alice asked. "What will we do now that Dumbledore isn't here to protect you?"

A cold chill ran up the Potion Master's spine. They knew.

"You were playing both sides against the middle the whole time, weren't you Severus?" Lily purred dangerously. "Do you know what your Lord and Master told me when he stunned me that night fifteen years ago? After he killed my husband and son, he woke me up and told me that I was to be a reward to you for your fine work. I think he meant to keep that promise to you because he didn't try to use the killing curse on me until I attacked him. The look on his face when his curse rebounded almost made up for the pain it cause me."

"That's why you're going to die tonight Severus," Alice said quietly.

"Lily," Snape whispered. "Please?"

"Certainly Severus," she answered, her wand against his neck "It's the least we could do."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

"What the hell?" I hear a lot of readers asking.

Yet another 'dimensional travel' story. I was reading a story where on the run from Tom and his Death Eaters, Harry, Hermione and Ron ended up somehow, accidently translate to another universe where they are all dead. Harry fell to Tom as an infant, where Peter died protecting him (after stupidly sharing the secret with the wrong person in the midst of pillow talk), Ron died due to the violating the 'Unbreakable Vow' that the Twins had tried to get him to take in canon, and Hermione died to the Troll in her first year.

So, that got me to thinking. What if each of the Potters became the X "who lived"? Each in their own world.

James gathered Sirius and Remus to him, and together used their pull with the Wizengamot to get him a hunting license with no bag limit.

Lily found an ally in Alice Longbottom, the only survivor of her family's slaughter. Being a 'Muggleborn' Lily was celebrated but not taken seriously, and again the bulk of the Death Eaters found acquittal via claims of Imperius.

Lily pulled her group together and became a criminal organization after Tom managed a rebirth via the Triwizard.

So, after the battles are over, James is flailing about without a purpose to his life. In desperation Sirius and Remus find a way that might allow James to transition to a world where Lily and Harry are.

Lily and Alice are arrested and sentenced to the Veil.

I planned for James and Lilly & Alice to end up appearing a few weeks apart in a semi-canon world to find a desperate 15 year old Harry and co on their way into the Ministry to 'save' Sirius.

Who doesn't believe for a second that these people are his parents, and Neville freaks right the hell out over an aware Alice.

I got the fights semi-written, but then it just stopped.

I may come back to it someday, but for now, free to a good home.


	13. Psychomachia

**_Psychomachia_**

My name is Harry Potter, and I was in hell.

Well, I wasn't literally in hell, of course, as I am still alive and at the time was waiting for the first day of classes of my 7th year to begin the next day. Unable to sleep, I found myself wandering the halls of Hogwarts, safe from Filch, the prefects and whatever teachers making after curfew rounds, under my invisibility cloak. Somehow, surviving, to say nothing of winning the fight with Voldemort, was not turning out the way I had imagined.

Tom was gone, and most of his Death Eaters, both the actual marked kind and those who were simply financial supporters were either dead, imprisoned or neutered, so it was reasonable to expect that my life would improve… right?

But no, that would make too much sense, it would be too easy. The Universe couldn't have that, could I?

Of course not. Sometime during the twelve days I spent in St Mungo's following the final fight with Tom, I came to the realization that I had utterly lost my mind.

On the plus side, no one seemed to have noticed.

This, of course, this only caused me more concerns. Had I _**always**_ been like this, just too wrapped up in my own misery to notice?

"Oh, for the love of magic, Potter," Tom said from my left shoulder. "It was only exposure to my magnificence that allows you this opportunity."

"Oh, fuck me," I whispered.

"Language Harry," Hermione huffed from my right shoulder. "And you shouldn't be paying any attention to him. You know what a bad influence he is."

Wonderful. They were back.

 _ **\- Psychomachia -**_

Twenty minutes later, safely ensconced behind the curtains of my bed and three-layered silencing charms, I was hugging my knees and rocking slowly as a pair of figments of my imagination argued from either side of my head.

My worst nightmare stood on my left shoulder and glared imperiously at my best friend, who was giving a good as she received.

"Oh, Merlin," I whined. "I hope there's a bed near Neville's parents, that way at least someone will visit me occasionally."

"Nice whinging, Potter," Shoulder-Tom hissed in Parseltongue, which infuriated Shoulder-Hermione to no end, restarting the shrieking back and forth argument between them.

Does it make sense that only one of the figments of my imagination could speak Parsel? It certainly didn't make sense to me, and for that matter, still doesn't.

Not for the first time, I tried to ignore their screaming match and evaluate what I knew about them.

First of all, they weren't ghosts.

Well, probably weren't ghosts, anyway. Seeing as Hermione was both still alive and at this hour likely sleeping in her bed in the girl's dorms, which pretty much disqualified the Hermione standing on my right shoulder from ghosthood… ghostliness? The state of being a ghost?

Whatever.

Real Tom was most definitely dead. I didn't drop a house on him or anything, though at one point that was one of my plan 'b's, after Hermione discovered that L. Frank Baum was a squib who transcribed some minor historical events of the magical world into a series of children's stories. Dumbledore, Moody, and even poor Kingsley Shacklebolt all took big chunks out of old Tom, leaving me to deliver the killing stroke in the form of a cutting charm that severed his head from his shoulders.

Fair? Not at all, but we weren't dueling, we were fighting a war. Just like the time before, as soon as Tom was gone, his Death Eaters collapsed like a house of cards, which was both lucky and stupid. Lucky for us, and stupid of them. Dumbledore was exhausted, almost unable to move. Draco Malfoy would have been able to kill him. Moody was unable to fight with his magical eye blinded and his wooden leg destroyed, Kingsley's legs were severed just below the hips, and me, I was too busy trying not to die from the blood-boiling curse Tom hit me with as my cutter sliced through his neck.

The Death Eaters had taken hits as well, all of the Lestranges were dead, Neville and the Patil twins had made very sure of that. Hermione had her own revenge on Dolohov for what he had done to her in the Department of Mysteries. I have no idea what spell she used on him, but his body was turned inside out without killing him. That was some nasty magic, and seeing its application was more than a little disturbing. Ginny, Ron and the twins fought and killed Lucius Malfoy, hopefully earning a bit of closure for that damned diary and the attacks on their father.

Despite all of this, the Death Eaters still outnumbered us at least three times over, given that the Aurors weren't responding. Fudge had them all at the Ministry so he had someone to safely hide behind. There was no logical reason for the Death Eaters to turn tail and run. Nevertheless, they did.

So, yeah, we were lucky.

I woke up in St Mungo's four days later in the bed next to Moody and the one across from Shacklebolt. Shack was still out, but Moody was turning the air blue with his cursing. The healers wanted him to stay, but the old man was having no part of it.

The Healers were learning something those of us who fought Tom already knew. If Alastor Moody didn't want to be someplace, there was no way short of killing him that would make him stay.

The old man nodded to me as he clumped his way out of the room on his newest replacement leg, showing that my pretending to be unconscious had not fooled him in the slightest. The flustered Healers followed Moody from the room, still pleading their case, leaving me alone in the room with Shack who, given his state, wasn't likely to be able to carry his end of a conversation.

I lay in the hospital bed, just enjoying the silence for a moment when my sanity broke.

That sounds like a literary device, doesn't it? But no, I actually heard a distinct 'snap' just before little Tom and little Hermione appeared on my shoulders and started their first argument.

Does a mind make a noise when it is broken? Mine did.

 _ **\- Psychomachia -**_

Fortunately, Little Tom and Little Hermione weren't around _all_ the time. The first Breakfast of the school year was delightfully psychosis free. It was fun just people watching now that the pressure of the war was off.

Everyone was leaving me alone, mostly because of Hermione's (the real one, not my imaginary friend) threats of horrific revenge on anyone who bothered me.

Lord, but I love that girl. I always wondered if having her in my life was the equivalent of a normal bloke having a protective older sister.

"Good morning, Harry," Parvati said as she took the seat across from me.

"Sleep well?" Lavender asked as she did the same to my immediate right.

"As well as any crazy person can," I laughed.

"We nutters have to stick together," Lavender giggled, bumping my shoulder with her own before she began to fill her plate. "Oh, by the way, my Mum said I should thank you 'for everything', but I won't because I know you hate that sort of thing."

"Then why did you bring it up?" Parvati asked.

"Because as much as our Harry hates the attention, he needs to know that people appreciate everything he's done," Lavender explained.

Parvati nodded her understanding and then the pair of them launched into a discussion of which of the standard Hogwarts breakfast selections fit into their diet plans.

I had spent the time since ending Tom deciding that I was going to end the monk-like existence I had been living since Ginny and I broke up. I'd built up a list of the girls I wanted to ask out, Susan, Tracey from Slytherin, Morag, Padma, Parvati, and Lavender were my first choices. Each of them had their own attributes that attracted me to them, it was just a matter of manning up a bit and actually asking one of them out.

And Lavender was sitting right next to me… Convenience was a thing, after all.

"Say, Lav," I said hesitantly. My palms were sweating. I hadn't been this frightened when facing off against Tom. While waiting for her to respond, I wondered just what it was that was so wrong with me.

"Yes, Harry?" she asked, interrupting her discussion of the relative merits of orange slices over peach halves.

"I was wondering, you know if you don't have anything else to do if you'd like to go out sometime."

Lord, was that as stupid as is sounded?

She smiled, "Are you asking me on a date, Harry?"

"Yeah," I nodded while wiping my hands on my trouser legs.

"Sounds like fun," Lavender said, exchanging a knowing look with Parvati across the table. "Were you thinking the September Hogsmeade weekend?"

"Yeah," I nodded again, still trying to dry my hands. What was wrong with me?

"It's a date," she smiled again before engaging Parvati in an in-depth discussion on what she might wear for our date.

Well, I decided as I started in on my eggs, that hadn't been so bad.

"Brown, eh?" Shoulder Tom noted as he popped into existence on my left shoulder. "Not bad, smashing tits, nice arse. You'll be nailing that, yes?"

"We will NOT be 'nailing that'," Shoulder Hermione huffed, appearing on my right shoulder.

"Don't listen to her, Potter," Shoulder Tom snapped. "She's got Virgin written all over her, and is bound and determined to keep you that way along with her."

"What we will be doing," Shoulder Hermione continued, ignoring her sinister counterpart, "is treating Lavender with respect. We will take her out, treating her like a princess. We will wine her, dine her, treat her to the romance of her life, and then…"

"And then?" Shoulder Tom asked sarcastically.

"And then," Shoulder Hermione said, looking Lavender up and down with an evil grin, "Then we nail that.

I honestly didn't know what to say to that, but Shoulder Tom just stared at his counterpart with open-mouthed amazement. "That is the evilest thing I've ever heard," He said, his with admiration in his voice. "Are you sure you don't belong on this shoulder?"

 **AN: And this is where it died. This started as a take-off of an older TV show called 'Herman's Head' where the joke was the titular hero's personality is portrayed as being completely separate individuals in the guy's head. Sort of like the Pixar Inside-Out movie, only about 20 years earlier. Fans of that show might recognize Shoulder Hermione's last line.**

 **Couldn't get it to work, so then I decided to move the concept to the 'Shoulder Devil/Angel' cliché.**

 **It's not going anywhere and hasn't for about two years, so I thought I'd put it here.**


	14. Agent O

**A/N: I own none of this. I do not own Harry Potter or any rights to his image or personality. I do not own the moon or the stars. I do not own human genders, other than my own personal original factory equipment. Honest. Nope, not me. I most certainly do not own the rights to a billion dollar literary work, nor any of the characters associated with a certain House of Mouse.**

 **Harry and Ron**

"And what are you two up to?"

Harry Potter looked up from the drawings he and Ron Weasley were marking up. "Ron and I are just trying to figure out what we should do this weekend, Hermione."

"It's just a wild suggestion on my part," the bushy haired genius said sarcastically, "but you could spend your weekend working on your assignments due next week."

"Now, that's just crazy talk," Ron opined.

"OH!" Hermione huffed. "Just don't come running to me when you both fail."

"You know, sometimes I think she's wound just a bit too tight." Harry noted watching his female best friend stomp from the Great Hall.

"Hi Harry," Sue Bones said as she approached the Gryffindor table with several of the Hufflepuff girls in tow. "What'cha doin'?"

"Oh, hi Sue," Harry replied. "Ron and I were trying to figure out what we were going to do this weekend."

"You could always help us," the redhead said with a coy smile. "We Hufflepuff Girls are going to spend our weekend spreading goodwill throughout the castle by doing Random Acts of Kindness."

Harry got a calculating look. "Random Acts of Kindness, eh?"

"Doing something that was truly random," Ron noted, "would take quite a bit of planning and preparation."

"You know Ron; I know what we're going to do this weekend!" Harry said with manic enthusiasm.

"That's great Harry! Say," Susan asked suddenly concerned, "where's Hedwig?"

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

In a secret underground lair, Agent O carefully adjusted her fedora and activated the Comm panel. Instantly the wall-sized video monitor lit up showing a white haired man with an equally white mustache.

"Ah, Agent O, good of you to make it. Lucius Malfoy has been buying up all the hair care products in the UK. We're not sure what to make of this, but we're sure he's up to no good. Your mission is to find out what he's up to, and stop him."

Agent O nodded and extended her wings before a somewhat nasally voice spoke from off screen.

"Ah, sir?"

"Oh, yes," Major Monogram sighed. "Before you head out to stop Lucius Malfoy's nefarious scheme, you have another mission today, Agent O. Today is an official mentoring day here at O.W.C.A., so you'll need to spend some time with your intern."

Agent O's shoulders slumped, and she even seemed to molt a bit.

"Oh come now Agent O, I know that spending time with an intern is a horrible thing to contemplate, but it isn't really all that bad," the man said in a conciliatory tone. "I mean, after all, I have to do it every day."

"Hey!" the nasally voice protested.

"Calm down, Carl, you know it's true."

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

The Organization Without a Cool Acronym staff cafeteria was filled with fedora-wearing agents and their hyperactive interns as each agent suffered through his or her required hour of mentoring.

Agent O cast a gimlet eye over her feathery git of an intern, as said feathery git, wearing the traditional propeller beanie of an O.W.C.A. field agent intern, fluttered about the room like a constipated wiener dog. Reaching for her lunch with her left leg, Hedwig shook her head. When she had been starting out with the organization, the OWCA had much tougher standards.

With an apologetic glance toward Agent M at the next table, she took a beak full of field mouse and tried to leave as few entrails as possible hanging from her beak. She knew that her day could not possibly get any worse, and then it did.

Sliding onto the seat across from her was her main rival here at OWCA, Agent P. It galled her that despite the fact that this… bottom feeding monotreme, while not actually being a predator, had somehow managed to maintain a top-flight reputation at the Organization.

Of course, when one only has to face off against a joke like Heinz Doofenshmirtz, how hard was it to build a reputation? She wondered idly how long this semi-aquatic egg-laying mammal would last against an opponent with magic.

The platypus maintained eye contact with Agent O for several seconds before issuing for a sort of clattering growl. Agent O bobbed her head a single time and responded.

"Prek"

The platypus nodded, then looked down and sighed. Agent P disappeared for a moment and returned helping an extremely small juvenile echidna wearing an intern's propeller beanie up to the table.

Agent O heroically kept her mirth to herself. Her intern may very well be a feathered idiot, but at least he could climb into a chair if need be. With a flash of her beak, Agent O finished off her field mouse, just in time for her intern to lose control of his flight, and crash in a most undignified, un-Owl like manner, headfirst into Agent P's coffee cup.

Agent O rolled her eyes. Could the O.W.C.A.'s standards fall any lower?

Evidently, they could, as Agent P's intern demonstrated by somehow managed to tip the cup full of wet Owl-Git over ending up trapped beneath the heavy porcelain mug along with the squirming owlet.

With a long-suffering sigh, Agent P lifted the coffee cup, freeing both the writhing, peeping interns from their self-imposed prison.

Agent O retrieved her intern and began cleaning the coffee from the hyperactive owlet in a manner that would, to those not familiar with owl interactions, suggest a savage beating.

To those familiar with owl interactions, there was no suggestion at all. It in fact, was a savage beating.

The only thing that saved Pig the Intern from massive injuries was the intercom issuing a loud 'Bing' followed by a rather nasally voice announcing: "Attention all Agents. Mentoring time is over; proceed with your primary daily missions. Good Thwarting, Agents!"

Agent O released her intern in time to spot Agent P offering her a nod, before vanishing into the churning, some might even say stampeding, crowd. Agent O launched herself into the air. There was no way she was going to allow that bottom-feeder to surpass her as an agent.

 **-===oooOOOooo===-**

The Agent crashed her way into Lucius Malfoy's Sanctum Stultus through a convenient window.

"Ah, Hedwig the Owl," the financier of darkness purred. "The door was open; your typical Dramatic Entry was completely unnecessary."

"Prek!" the Agent responded non-apologetically, launching herself toward the blond wizard with the intent to do grievous bodily harm. In midair, she suddenly found herself bound wing and foot with a small rubber ball gag stuffed in her beak.

"My latest development," Malfoy remarked. "The Ibis Captionem spell, guaranteed to restrain an ambitious hero, or your money back."

"Prek!"

The door opened allowing entrance of an attractive woman. "Lucius," she said, concentrating on the sheaf of parchment in her hands. "What is going on with all this hair care product you've been buying?"

"It's part of the plan, Narcissa," Lucius explained helpfully.

"The plan?" she asked looking up from the invoice to take in the scene before her. "Lucius, why do you have an owl in bondage gear?"

"Oh, you haven't been introduced, have you? Narcissa Malfoy, this is Hedwig the Owl, my arch-nemesis. Hedwig the Owl, Narcissa Malfoy, my wife."

Narcissa looked between her husband and the bound owl before sighing and moving toward the door. "I don't know what this is, and I don't want to know. Don't buy anything that isn't in the budget without going through me."

As the door shut, Agent O bit through the ball gag and shredded her bindings with a heave of her mighty wings. She landed on the floor to find Lucius seated on a chaise, almost in tears.

"It wasn't always like this, Hedwig the Owl," the blond man sighed. "We were so happy when we started. It was the age-old story how an evil boy met an evil girl, we had a love strong enough to rule the whole wide world. We took the town by force, hand in hand, of course, we were as happy as we could be." Lucius wiped his eyes before continuing, "We maniacally laughed at all the same things, first we'll steal a glance, then a kiss and then our wedding rings…"

"Prek," Hedwig said consolingly, gently patting Lucius on his shoulder with a wingtip.

"I can still remember," Lucius sobbed, "when our inferi armies marched, to the beating of our hearts, I was as happy as I could be with my evil girl by me."

Hedwig wasn't quite sure when today's thwarting had gone wrong, but there was no way she was sticking around to see how it ended. Without another word, she took flight exiting through the window she had broken on her way in.

"Curse you, Hedwig the Owl," Lucius called inconsolably from behind her.

 **A/N:** **And there it ends. The seed for this was watching an episode of Phineas and Ferb with my grandkids while contemplating a story with Lucius being as pathetically incompetent as Draco, only maintaining the image he had because Narcissa was propping him up.**

 **I could never think of an appropriately Phineas and Ferb-ish massive construction that Harry and Ron would be occupied with through the day that would drive Hermione as the Candice espy to distraction tattling to McGonagal (or 'Mom') only to be ignored.**

 **Still, I quite enjoyed the mental image of the OWACA interns wearing propeller beanies rather than the more traditional fedoras of the full agents. And Susan Bones and her fellow female Hufflepuffs make great standins for Isabella and the Fireside girls.**


	15. Changes

A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. But you knew that.

 **Changes**

Consciousness came back in dribs and drabs; he released the breath he dimly realized he had been holding, and inhaled seawater.

That forced him into the here and now, gagging and choking. He was lying face down on a pebbled beach, the frigid surf washing over him as the tide came in.

Had it worked? Had the risks been worth it? A tiny hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"Dobby was worried!" the bedraggled elf said with an undying devotion in his voice.

Sitting up in the surf, he took inventory. The ring was on his right hand, the wand clenched in his fist, and his body was still wrapped in the cloak. He focused.

"I didn't expect you to be caught up in this, Dobby," he said. "Did it work? Have we made it? Can everything be made better?"

"Dobby does not know," the elf said with a shake of his head. "But Dobby will always help as he can."

Nodding his understanding the Wizard rose to his feet and stumbled toward the lights in the distance, a large cluster of them, probably a small town. Was he still in Britain?

More importantly, what was he going to do now?

Even as he made his arrangements for any of the several attempts, he never really believed that it was going to work. The idea had been what Hermione used to call 'blindingly stupid', and consequently, he had never really thought that there was a single chance in hell that it was going to work. Each attempted ended with him waking up in the rubble of the ritual room.

For the sixth attempt to drop him onto a beach with electric lights in the distance had been quite unexpected.

Now that he was here, he had a basic idea about what he needed to do, but he was going to need to find out just where he was… and possibly more important, when he was.

He trudged away from the sea in the darkness, after a few dozen yards coming to a concrete seawall. The wall rose higher than he could reach, though his eyes had adjusted to the darkness well enough that he could make out white painted railings at the top. Another good sign.

One direction was as good as the other, so he decided to head toward the lights. As he made his way along the seawall, occasionally a flare of light and the sound of a motor sounded above before fading into the distance.

Cars. This was wonderful. He actually had a chance to make a difference if there were still cars in Britain, assuming he was in Britain anyway.

"Muggles," Dobby said as the elf nodded toward the railing above them. Suddenly a light long dimmed sparkled in the small being's eyes. "Elves!" he said, hugging himself. "Dobby can feel other elves, like before the evil happened."

The Wizard ran a hand through his hair. Electric lights, Muggles out and about, and now Dobby was sensing elves. If this was Britain, there was a chance. A slim chance, but a chance.

This is where everything could fall apart. Never really believing that his mad plan would work, he had never planned out exactly what he was going to try to do. If he was in Britain, if he was when he was supposed to be, he would need a plan to move forward. If he was going to make difference, he could not be himself. That much was certain. Just appearing would bring far too many questions, and attract far too much attention. He was going to need a new name.

Maybe George's joke from when he had learned languages when trying to take Weasley's Wizarding Weezes international would be a good choice.

Maybe.

He had come to a set of concrete stairs leading up to the street above, one painted with picture signs signaling for caution on the steps. Then he saw it and smiled.

The signs were in English.

He was home.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **19 September 1990.**

Al Granger stood in the doorway of his home and watched the odd little woman walk away. At the end of the walkway, she turned back and offered him a small nod. He blinked and she was gone.

Seeing a woman vanish from the face of the Earth was the sort of very odd event that would have shocked him to the depths of his soul only a few hours earlier. Now it was just the latest of a series of odd events he had witnessed today. He carefully closed the door and returned to his sitting room to find it empty. He followed the sounds of cleaning in the kitchen to find his wife and daughter.

"Oh, Daddy, isn't it exciting?" Hermione asked as she carried the plates from the family meal to her mother who was washing up at the sink. "I'm a witch! I can do magic! I will be going to Hogwarts won't I Daddy?"

"That is something we are going to need to discuss Hermione," Al said as he lifted a dishtowel from the where it hung on the cooker's handle and started to dry the dishes in the drainer.

"Professor McGonagall certainly made attending Hogwarts sound attractive, but I couldn't help but notice that outside of the courses on magic, the curriculum the school offers appear to be substandard."

"Quite," Peggy Granger agreed. "No maths until your third year, and then it's that oddly named 'Arithmancy' which sounded more like numerology than any real math. No English, no science classes, no real-world history. This 'Hogwarts' might be a famous school of magic, but it doesn't seem to be much of a school."

"Mum!" Hermione protested just as the doorbell rang.

"We're popular tonight," Al said with a grin, "this time it's probably some little green men here to tell us that Hermione is their long-lost crown princess."

"Funny Daddy, really funny," Hermione called after her father

Chuckling as he wiped his hands on the dishtowel the dentist opened his front door to find a young man dressed all in black.

Good Evening Mr. Granger," the man said quietly. "You've just had a visit from Professor McGonagall from Hogwarts, and she told you all about the wonders of the magical world."

"And who are you?" Al asked.

"My Name is Pilosus Töpfer, and I'm a wizard," the man gestured and a ball of blue flame appeared in his hand. "I'm here to offer you an opposing view."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

The Granger's second guest of the evening stayed for an hour before Al led him once more to the door. "Thank you for telling us that."

The younger man shrugged. "You needed to know."

"There is no way I am subjecting Hermione to that school," Al said. "She'll be disappointed, but I know she'll do well anywhere she goes."

Töpfer hesitated for a moment and then reached into a pocket on the inside of his jacket. "I think I'd best show you something," he said holding out a brass sphere the size of a small orange. The shining surface inscribed with row after row of arcane characters.

"What is it?"

"It's a special memory device. I think you need to see this." Töpfer explained.

Al Granger took the small sphere in his hand, moderately surprised by the weight of the device. "What do I do?"

"Just hold it to your forehead and squeeze it."

The dentist raised the heavy sphere to his forehead as directed. As soon as he began squeezing the device, his eyes went wide and his mouth opened in a silent scream.

One minute and seventeen seconds later Al Granger slumped against the doorframe and the brass sphere fell from his fingers. Töpfer caught it in a lightning fast grab and returned the device to the pocket it had come from.

"Why... why did you show me that? Why?"

"On the off chance our insane plan worked, you asked me to show it to you the day we buried them. You said that if you were going to believe me and do what needed to be done, you would need to know." Töpfer answered. "It was far worse than I dared let either Mrs. Granger or Hermione know."

"That was real? That was _me_? Where were you?"

"I don't look like I did then, and yes, it was you, and all of that was real and it all happened. It will happen again if things aren't changed. It has to be changed, everything has to be changed." Töpfer looked into the dentist's eyes. "Everything. That's why I'm here."

"No bloody worry there. I will get them both so far away from this place that no one could ever find us."

"Good."

"But what about... What about… him?"

"He and I… We must stay. We may not win, but we have to stay," the younger man said.

"And because I know, because of what I must do, they... Hermione and... he won't have what they did." Al's tone made it clear that this was a statement, not a question.

Töpfer shrugged again. "The high points of his life may not be nearly as happy, but the low points of her life won't be nearly as horrifying."

The dentist nodded. He needed to protect his family. Already plans were flashing through his mind. "What will you do now?"

"There are a few more people I need to see, others that received a visit from Professor McGonagall. Then I need to see a woman about a dog, and finally, there's a certain young man who needs some help."

Granger took the younger man's hand in both of his and held tight. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Töpfer offered a wry grin. "Take care of them. There are other schools of magic, in places that don't care that much about who your grandparents are. They tend to fight about other things."

The wizard twisted in place and vanished. Al swallowed and steeled himself for what was coming.

"Is he gone?" Peggy asked when he returned to the sitting room.

"Yes," the Dentist nodded.

"You don't believe him do you Daddy?" his little genius asked, her eyes huge.

"He gave us some things to think about, Hermione," Al noted, not wanting to answer her question truthfully. "Your mum and I will have to discuss it."

Hermione's lower lip pushed out into a pout, "Daddy!"

"Your father and I will talk about it, Hermione," Peggy said in a tone that did not invite argument. "Head up to your room and get ready for bed, young lady."

"Yes, Mum," Hermione said, her pout still firmly in place.

"She does that to manipulate you, you know."

"I know," Al admitted, "and I'm ashamed to admit that it works."

"So, what did he tell you?"

"What makes you think he told me anything?" Al hedged.

"Aloysius Hercules Granger, I've shared your life and your bed for twenty-three years," Peggy said as she lowered herself onto his lap. "You are an open book to me. He told you something that terrified you. Now, you are going to tell me what he told you," she slipped her hand into his shirt and grasped his chest hairs, "or I am going to hurt you."

"He had some kind of memory device, Peg, he showed me the future."

"The future?" Peggy asked incredulously.

"Hermione looked to be eighteen or nineteen," the dentist continued. "He showed me memories of us, three young boys and myself, burying you, Hermione and a blonde girl."

"No," Peggy said shaking her head. "It had to be some kind of trick."

"The device showed me crying over your body, calling you pet names that only you and I would know. There is no way he could have known that I've never used them in front of anyone."

"He's a time traveler? How is that possible?"

"He's a wizard, luv," Al pointed out. "Before today, was that possible?"

"We need to leave," Peggy concluded.

"We do," Al agreed. "I'll contact the solicitor in the morning. We'll put the practice up for sale, and find someplace far away from here and far away from the wizards."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **1 October 1990.**

The door opened before he could knock. Töpfer paused for a moment and considered what he was doing. Steeling his resolve, he stepped across the threshold and made his way into the entryway.

The entry was a long hallway, one that Töpfer rather doubted was really the entry to the house, given the amount of magic that permeated the walls, and it was likely that this passage was not actually part of the house, it had probably been created specifically for his visit.

Given that he was here unannounced and uninvited, Töpfer did not know if that was a good sign or not.

Resisting the urge to draw the wand he made his way down the hall to the open doorway.

The door, despite being open was totally occluded. He could not see or hear anything beyond the door. Again, he paused to focus himself and swallowed. This was a risk. A serious risk.

Nevertheless, it had to be done.

Stepping through the doorway he found himself in a well-lighted potions lab. At least a dozen cauldrons bubbled over flames and an old man stooped over the center vessel intent on his stirring.

"You are English, yes?"

"I am," Töpfer admitted, wondering how the old man knew.

"Your clothes, the way you stand, the way you hesitated before entering my sanctum, that is how I knew you were English," the old man explained answering the unasked question.

"I see," Töpfer nodded.

"When you live for 600 years, you learn to notice things," the old man continued.

"You are Nicolas Flamel, then?"

The old man looked up from his potions incredulously. "Why would you come here if you didn't already know the answer to that?"

"Be careful around this one, Old Man," an old woman said when she entered the room behind Töpfer, causing him to jump. The woman crossed the room to where the old man stood and placed a plate with a sandwich and a goblet of some frothing liquid before him. "He has the stench of time travel about him."

"I'm not blind, old woman," Flamel snapped as she made her way out of the room the way she had entered.

"That is my wife, Perenelle," Flamel said as he stirred one of his cauldrons with one hand and took up the sandwich with the other. "Not much to look at now, but when we met she would have dropped your jaw, boy. We were the same year at Beauxbatons you know, I would always look forward to Astronomy class, so that I could follow behind her and gaze at her legs as she climbed the stairs." The old man seemed lost in thought for a moment, before sighing and taking a bite of his sandwich.

"You can't have the Stone, by the way," he said while chewing. "You can't borrow it, you can't sample it, you can't buy it, and even though you've got Dumbledore's little trick wand, somehow, you haven't got what it takes to take it from me."

"I don't want the Philosopher's Stone, Mr. Flamel," Töpfer said.

"You don't?" the old man asked, a bushy eyebrow raising to his hairline as if he had become unused to being surprised. "Then why are you here, boy?"

"I'm here to ask you not to lend it to Dumbledore."

"I see," Flamel said, for the first time giving Töpfer his full attention. "I told young Albus that if he wanted a Stone, he should make one himself. However, I'm curious how you know what we spoke of… Ah yes, time traveler."

"Yes sir," Töpfer admitted. "So, he asked, and you told him no?"

"Of course, I did," Flamel laughed. "The Stone is as much a curse as it is a blessing. No one gets the stone but me and my wife."

"Dumbledore said that you had given it to him to protect it from Voldemort," Töpfer explained.

"That upstart?" Flamel laughed again. "He's been here twice, and I spanked him soundly before sending him away."

"Dumbledore lied," Töpfer breathed, suddenly relaxing.

"Of course, he lied," Flamel said as he returned to his cauldrons. "His lips were moving. Is that all you wanted?"

"Yes, sir," Töpfer said quietly.

"Good, what's your name boy?"

"Pilosus Töpfer."

"Pilosus…?" the old man looked back at him and smiled. "Cute. Very Cute. We're done here."

Töpfer found himself standing on the house's porch, facing the now closed door. He had not seen the old man move. Suddenly, he had no problem believing that Flamel had indeed 'spanked' Voldemort.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **7 October 1990.**

Molly Weasley was in her kitchen reflecting on how lucky she was. Oh, there were moments, she thought as she kneaded the bread for the night's dinner. For example, the blowout with Charlie over his applying for that silly job working with dragons.

However, families fought, and families made up. That was the way of the world.

With Bill in Egypt, and Charlie, Percy and the Twins away at Hogwarts, Molly treasured the time she had left with her two youngest. Nine-year-old Ginny was playing with her dolls, conducting her latest marriage to Harry Potter under the shade of the old oak next to the Weasley vegetable garden. Ron was supposed to be de-gnoming the lawn, but she could clearly see the ten-year-old running through the high weeds at the tree line pretending to be flying in a championship Quidditch game, no doubt playing for his favorite team, the Cannons.

Humming her favorite Celestina Warbeck song, Molly slid her dough onto a shelf in the pantry to allow it to rise and then stiffened in fear.

The Wards. Someone had crossed the wards from the woods! In an instant, her wand was in her hand and she was out the door. Whoever had crossed the wards was in the same area Ron was playing in. As she passed her daughter, she barked "Inside! Now!"

Ginny was shocked to see the look of fear on Molly's face and obeyed without questioning her.

The wards spoke to her again, telling her that the wards had been crossed again, this time signaling that the mysterious person had left Weasley lands and Molly used that knowledge to head directly to the point of exit.

She found Ron just inside the tree line, perhaps fifty feet from the edge of the wards. His unmoving form seemed to reflect her worst fears until she got closer. He clearly showed signs of having been stunned. Fear battled with relief as she pointed her wand at her youngest son.

"Ennervate!"

"What? Mum?" Ron said as he was suddenly forced into alertness. "What happened?"

"Someone crossed the ward line and attacked you, Ron, back to the house now."

Ron climbed to his feet, then a panicked look hit his face and he began searching his pockets. "Scabbers?" he yelped looking around.

"What about Percy's rat?" Molly asked, keeping her eyes on the tree line.

"I sort of borrowed him to play with," Ron explained. "He's gone! Whoever hit me stole Scabbers! Percy's going to kill me!"

"Ronald, get back to the house now. As soon as I call the Aurors and your father, we can talk about your losing Percy's pet rat." Molly pushed her son in the direction of the house and maintained her guard. Arthur sometimes made enemies with his work, which had to be what this was all about. The idea of anyone stealing a _rat_...

A thunderous boom swept over them, knocking Molly and her son to the ground with the force of its passing. Before she could gather her wits enough to even try to stand again, Molly spotted a shaft of golden light that extended into the sky from the direction of the Lovegood home.

What was going on today?

 **-oooOOOooo-**

If Kinglsey Shacklebolt was honest, apparation was the part of his job he disliked the most, even more than paperwork. There was just something wrong about suddenly appearing at a crime scene, especially when the disorientation inherent in suddenly being somewhere else was taken into account.

Still, it was part of the job. Therefore, he did it without complaint.

He stood, regaining his bearings as he stared at the oddly shaped house that was the source of the problem. A powerful surge of magic had been centered in this building that was shaped like a Rook chess piece for some reason, indeed, he could see what appeared to be an unplanned hole in the structure from which smoke still poured out.

The surge, the most powerful one recorded since that night in '81 when Harry Potter destroyed Voldemort, had burned out every magical detector under Ministry control. That merited investigation.

His composure restored, Shacklebolt nodded to the pair of Aurors accompanying him and the trio approached the house.

A harried woman answered the door at his knock.

"Thank Merlin you're here," she said breathlessly. "Something very odd has happened."

"Kingsley Shacklebolt of the Aurors office, Ma'am," the big Auror said, "and you are?"

The ethereal blonde woman blinked, "Sorry, Selene Lovegood. I'm a Ministry Licensed Spell Creator."

Shack nodded. "The Ministry detected a massive discharge from this residence."

"Please, come in, I'm still trying to clean up."

Shack nodded to his fellow Aurors who understood that he would go on alone.

"This way," she said as she led him through an unexpectedly lengthy hallway to the back of the house, what kind of expansion charms did this house use?

A young girl, clearly the woman's daughter as she appeared to be a 1/3 size duplicate was busy with a house broom in the room that was obviously the source of the magical surge, given the gaping hole in the ceiling, offering a view of the three floors above the ground floor and the sky beyond.

"This is my daughter Luna," the elder Lovegood said, "My husband is at work."

"I see, was anyone injured in the event?" Shack asked.

"No," Selene said with a shake of her head, "but I cannot explain just how we weren't hurt or killed."

"Could you tell me what happened?" Shack asked, producing his notepad.

"I was working on a new variation of the Unbreakable Charm," she explained.

"Why would anyone need a variation of the Unbreakable charm?" Shack asked.

"The current charm degrades over a matter of days, and is vulnerable to temperature variations," Selene clarified. "If you subject the current charm to a freezing charm followed immediately by a flame charm, the Unbreakable charm will fail to live up to its name. My department has been hired by Gringotts to improve the established charm, removing the temperature vulnerability and if possible extend the time between recastings."

"I see," Shack said as he scribbled in his notebook. He had been utterly unaware of the weaknesses of the Unbreakable charm. That bit of information might be of assistance in the future.

"I had the charm matrix open and exposed, which left a slug of raw magic hanging in the air in front of me. I've done this thousands of times, making changes to the matrix and seeing how the charm processes the changes. This time something went wrong. The raw magic flared into instability, and I had an uncontrolled matrix cascade taking place directly in front of my face."

"And what does that mean?" the Auror asked.

"It means I should be dead, and Luna who was reading in the corner opposite the door would have at very least been injured. I tried to stop it, but the cascade got away from me and was utterly unstoppable. At the last possible moment, a sort of shield sphere formed around the slug of raw magic, the shield was optically transparent, which was a lucky break for me, because it allowed me to examine the matrix cascade in detail. Once the cascade was completely unwound, the sphere ejected the magic upwards," she pointed unnecessarily at the hole punched through her home.

"Where did this shield come from?"

"I have no idea," Selene said. "I wish I did, such a tool would be of great use.

"It was the man at the window, Mummy," the young girl said.

"I didn't see any man, Luna."

"He was right there," she pointed to the open window. "He waited to see if you were going to fix what went wrong and then he cast something at your magic thingie to stop it from doing what it was doing."

Shack knelt so that he was on the girl's eye level. "Can you tell me what he looked like?" he asked.

"He was taller than Daddy," the girl said with confidence, "but not as tall as you. He had brown hair, but I don't think the color was real, I think it was magiced. I couldn't see his eyes, I was too far away."

Shacklebolt rose back to his feet and completed his interview for the incident report, his mind racing on the likelihood of a stranger just happening to come across a spell creator having a spell matrix cascade happening while having the skill and willingness to intervene.

That did not seem likely. Not likely at all.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **13 October 1990.**

Susan Bones dug another furrow in the ice cream, the vanilla this time and shoveled the spoon into her mouth. She smiled a gap-toothed grin at her best friend Hannah who had taken a spoonful of the strawberry for herself.

"I swear," Amelia Bones said trying very hard to appear to be stern, "you two must have a permanent vanishing charm installed in your stomachs."

The girls giggled and Amelia made sure not to notice the slight grins on the faces of her protective detail. Suddenly the charmed bracelets all four of the adult magic users started vibrating.

"Incoming portkey!" Amelia barked. "Protect the girls."

As was previously agreed, David Walthers, the physically largest of the protective detail scooped the two startled ten-year-olds up in his arms and sprinted for a corner. Amelia and the two other Aurors drew their wands and fell into a defensive formation.

A man appeared horizontally three feet above the table the party had just vacated and fell to the tabletop with a crash. After landing, he lay still. Amelia exchanged looks with her detail and then approached the fallen man her wand at the ready.

He was a very short man. His thin, colorless hair was unkempt and there was a large bald patch on top. He had the wasted appearance of a plump man who has lost a lot of weight in a short period. His features were decidedly... rat-like, with a pointed nose and buckteeth to reinforce the resemblance. Stuck to his chest was a note. Amelia positioned herself to better read the words on it.

 _ **\- Hello, my name is Peter Pettigrew, as you can see, I am not quite dead. If I were the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, I would be very interested in questioning someone like me under Veritaserum, not that I would presume to tell you your job, Madam Bones. Oh, by the way, I am also an unregistered rat animagus... You might want to keep me unconscious until you can get me behind Animagus Wards... but, again, I would never presume to tell you your job, Madam Bones.**_

"Bloody hell." Bones breathed.

"Pettigrew? But he's dead; Sirius Black is in Azkaban..."

"I'm aware of the history of this case, Jewkes," Amelia said. "Get him to holding and place yourself outside the door until I relieve you personally," She pulled a pocket watch from her robes and checked the time. "I need to get Susan and Hannah back home, and then I'll be in. We need to confirm who this man is. If he turns out to be Peter Pettigrew, that means that someone buggered up the Black investigation in '81, and we are going to dot every i and cross every t until I'm satisfied that I know what happened that night. And then," the witch paused to clean her monocle. "Then, we're going to find out who thought dropping a supposedly murdered man on my lunch table was superior to bringing him to the Department."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **15 October 1990.**

"Pettigrew was found."

"So, what?" Yaxley asked. "I'm amazed that the little coward managed to disappear for as long as he did."

"The fact that he's still alive raises questions about where he has been since the fall of the Dark Lord," Lucius explained as patiently as he could. "And it raises questions who it was that captured Pettigrew and delivered him to that bitch Bones."

"Someone found the little bastard; I'm still not seeing the problem. Even some of the darker elements of society were resistant to the Dark Lord's vision. Pettigrew was seen by the wrong person and has paid for it with his freedom," Greyback said dismissively. "I fail to see why any of this could possibly worry you."

"I agree, Lucius," Mulciber said quietly. "Pettigrew had no connections with any of us, nor have any of us been in contact with him. I, for one believed that he had died in the aftermath of the Dark Lord's fall. Why does this bother you so much?"

Lucius's mind raced. Things were happening that were outside his control, not that these idiots understood that. All of them had their freedom only because Lucius had been able to control the situation, and that control was slipping away. In his mind, he carefully chose the words he would use to convince them of the danger, and then a flash of light distracted him.

Greyback's head rolling into his lap further distracted Lucius Malfoy, especially given the way the Were's mouth moved as if trying to form words and the man's wild eyes blinked up at him in confusion.

Mulciber lunged to his feet and reached for his wand to deal with the wizard that had so suddenly appeared in this most secure of meeting places when the light of yet another spell flared in the room.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

"What have you got Shack?"

"Evening Director," Shacklebolt said deferentially. "Four dead, massive spell damage. Purely from the appearance of the bodies, I would have suspected multiple assailants, but..."

"But what Shack?" Amelia snapped. She had already had a very long day from dealing with the whole Pettigrew thing, and now this.

"All the spell vectors appear to be coming from a single caster. These four," he gestured to the four bodies just then being examined by the duty Forensic Healer, got off two, maybe three spells off between them, but whoever attacked them... my most conservative count is twenty-three high powered spells in maybe two minutes."

Amelia's eyebrows went up. That was a lot of casting. The people who could do things like that were few and far in between... most of them were on the Professional Dueling circuit. "Walk me through it."

Shack nodded and took a position near the door. "It looks like it started with the assailant standing here. He cast toward the table where the four victims were seated. I believe that the first killed was Fenrir Greyback, from an insanely overpowered cutter that took the bastard's head clean off his shoulders."

"Completely severed?" Amelia asked. When Kingsley nodded, she continued. "I couldn't do that. Who could?"

"A single cutter at a distance of ten feet? I couldn't do it either. Dumbledore probably could," Shacklebolt theorized, "Maybe Flitwick, Possibly Moody... not too many others."

"I doubt Dumbledore did it, what is the time of death?"

"The first estimate puts it at about 3:30 this afternoon," Shacklebolt replied.

"Yeah, Dumbledore was in my office then. Ok, someone did a public service with Greyback first, then what happened?"

"My best guess is that Mulciber went next. His right hand is caught in the pocket his wand is in, and his ribcage is completely gone along with most of his spine and most of the bones in his right arm, a bone vanisher, again insanely overpowered. Given the average Death Eater's reaction time, the two spells had to come out one right after the other."

Shacklebolt moved three feet to his left. "There are scorch patterns where he was, and suddenly his spell vectors move here, so Malfoy and Yaxley got a spell off each. I think Yaxley cast some kind of flame curse and Malfoy used that dark cutter that the DEs started using the last few years of the war," he pointed at the multitude of marks on the far wall, "but the mystery man dodged to this side of the room while they were casting. When he got here, he summoned the counter from its mountings, and crushed Yaxley between it and the table."

"Again, as you put it, insanely overpowered," Amelia noted. That's three spells and three dead Death Eaters, what about the other twenty?"

Shacklebolt bent over to lift the sheet off one of the bodies. "Malfoy."

"Oh, Merlin!" Amelia exclaimed, "What did he do?"

"We haven't isolated all the patterns yet, but whoever this was, he really hated Malfoy and wanted to make sure the bastard suffered."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **22 December 1990.**

"Madam Malfoy, thank you for meeting me."

Narcissa Malfoy regarded the young Wizard with a jaundiced eye. "I'm not familiar with the Töpfer family, yet you appear to be British. What is your heritage?"

The man dressed in black smiled. "Really Madam Malfoy, I want to do business with you, what could you possibly care about me beyond the weight of my coin?"

"Despite the senseless murder of my husband two months ago, I do not make a habit of conducting business dealings with those outside my social circle," the aristocratic woman sniffed.

The wizard in black laughed causing the Widow Malfoy's anger to spike. "You find me amusing?" she demanded.

"You have no idea. To business then. I want Tom Riddle's diary, and I'll give you treasure beyond measure to get it," Töpfer reached into an inner pocket of his robes and tossed a leather money purse onto the woman's desk. "As well as two thousand galleons."

Narcissa Malfoy maintained an expression of annoyance, but inside her mind was churning. The diary? How did this boy know about the diary? Lucius had only told her about it a few months before his death. Moreover, what did this stranger mean by 'treasure beyond measure'? "I have no idea what you're talking about."

The younger man sighed, "Of course you do. Please, Madam Malfoy, I'm on a schedule and I really don't have time to play games with you. The life of your son is the 'treasure beyond measure' I mentioned. Sell me the diary or I will kill your son before he has a chance to grow up to be the bastard that Lucius was. Then, I will rip the diary out of the blood safe hidden under your desk. Either way, I get what I want."

Narcissa's wand was out instantly, "You think you can come into my home and threaten me?"

Töpfer's eyebrows arched in amusement for a moment, he then made a small gesture with his left hand and Narcissa found herself yanked upside down by her left ankle, thumping her head against the desktop hard enough that she dropped her wand and was seeing stars.

"For future reference Madam Malfoy," Töpfer said quietly. "When someone believes that they are powerful enough to destroy you, it is generally a bad plan to test their theory. They might well be correct in their beliefs."

Narcissa's head cleared to the point where she recognized the position she was in and that since she dressed in the manner of purebloods, this left her naked lower torso exposed to the room. She started desperately attempting to cover herself. "Please, don't. My son is in the next room, please?" she pleaded.

Töpfer's brow furrowed for a moment before understanding came to him. "Oh, please Madam Malfoy, don't flatter yourself. I have absolutely no desire to follow dear Lucius's path to that particular destination, Morgana only knows what interesting creatures he brought home with him from his adventures. All I want from you is the diary." With a gesture, he lowered the woman to the floor.

Narcissa dove under her desk and emerged seconds later with the diary, and a bleeding hand that she had not been able to heal, having not yet found her wand. "You have what you want, now leave."

Töpfer took the diary from her shaking hands and pocketed it. "Thank you, Madam Malfoy, it was a pleasure doing business with you..." Topher paused as if he suddenly remembered something. "You might want to enroll young Draco in a school other than Hogwarts. It is likely to be very dangerous to be a student there for the next few years."

"Is that another threat?" the woman huffed having regained some of her composure.

"Not at all, it just occurs to me that if Draco is the type to run his mouth, like I suspect he is, without Lucius to protect him, his life will likely become... interesting at Hogwarts.

"Severus Snape will protect him." she scoffed. "And Severus has the protection of Albus Dumbledore, Mr. Töpfer."

"Of course, he does." Töpfer smiled as he apparated away, blowing through the Malfoy wards as if they did not exist.

Narcissa immediately began wondering if Draco might not be better served by attending Beaubatons.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

Töpfer appeared in the sitting room of the Shrieking Shack with a soft crack, followed almost immediately by the pop of elfin apparation.

"Hello Dobby, how did it go?

"Not well, Dobby spoke with Dobby, but Dobby says that with the loss of his master, his mistress needs him, so Dobby doesn't think that Dobby will be leaving her." The elf sighed. "That's just the way Dobby is."

Töpfer paused to parse out what the elf had just told him, before deciding not to worry about it. "How are things at Privet Drive?"

"Bad. Harry Potter sir is most unhappy. Tubby cousin boy had an accident this morning. Ran full speed into a brick wall while shopping with his dam." The elf offered an evil grin. "Twice."

"As I recall, Dudley was always reported to be clumsy," Töpfer noted. "Make sure whatever accidents Dudley or any of the Dursleys have are painful but not fatal. We need them, at least for a while longer"

"Dobby will do it, and Dobby will help if Dobby needs help, even if Dobby will not leave Mistress and Young Master."

Töpfer nodded. "Before you return to guarding little Harry, I need your help with Winky."

The elf's ears drooped. "Winky will never forgive Dobby for this, but at least Dobby will not see Winky die like Dobby did."

"Right then," Töpfer said, again refusing to parse the elf's words. "Let's go."

With a crack and a pop, the pair was gone, and once again, the Shrieking Shack was empty.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

Winky carefully filled the spoon with Young Master Barty's favorite jelly and guided it to the unresponsive wizard's mouth.

"Young Master must eat," she gently chided the man, "Master told Winky to keep Young Master well fed and healthy, so Young Master must eat."

The dull-eyed man opened his mouth and allowed the elf to feed him. Deep in his mind a spark of what had made Barty Crouch Junior willing to follow the Dark Lord flared, and then ebbed again as the Imperius took hold once again.

"Young Master always liked Lemon Jelly," the elf sang. "Young Master grows so big and strong..."

Her song was interrupted when another elf popped into the room behind her, clapped his left hand over her mouth and encircling her waist with his strong right arm before popped away again, carrying the now distraught nanny elf with him.

The Imperused Barty Crouch Junior barely registered that his constant companion of the last decade was gone before a wizard apparated into the room.

"Hello Barty," the man said. "We're going for a little trip you and I." The wizard patted Crouch's cheek before continuing. "The first thing we're going to do is break that nasty little Imperius you've got there, and then we're going to talk... You're going to tell me _everything_."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **24 December 1990.**

Amelia made her way through the busy warren that was the Duty Auror bullpen. She looked around the room in distaste; everything was so... beige and lifeless. Her predecessor in the position of Director of Magical Law Enforcement had taken to heart the Muggle concept of a 'Cube Farm', and had inflicted this sterile abomination upon the Auror corps.

"Looking for someone Director?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked.

"I've found him, Shack," Amelia responded. "I need you to head out to Azkaban to supervise a prisoner pickup and transport."

"Black?" The tall Auror asked.

"Yes. He was one of ours that was done to, royally. I want him treated with kid gloves, escort the man to St. Mungos and keep the press vultures away from him until he wants to talk to them."

"That will likely be the best Christmas gift Black ever got. It'll be done Boss," Shacklebolt said. "I'll need..."

Amelia had to wait to find out what the big Auror needed when the lights in the bullpen started flashing, signaling an alert.

"Intruder in the Ministry." the recorded voice of Amelia's predecessor echoed throughout the building. The man's colossal ego had led him to record the security system's announcements himself. "Apparation Denial Wards are no longer functional. Personnel detection indicates the presence of two intruders in the Offices of the Director of Magical Law Enforcement."

Without a word of direction, the entire on-duty Auror force moved to their assigned positions throughout the ministry. Shacklebolt ran for the stairways that lead to Amelia's outer office, with Amelia right behind him.

Janice Ordway, a former Auror retired from the force due to injuries gained in the line of duty had been Amelia's secretary for five years. She stood at the door to the Director's office with her wand drawn when Shacklebolt and Amelia led ten Aurors into the outer office.

"Your office door slammed shut and sealed itself, Director," she reported. "No one entered before that happened."

"Intruder in the Ministry," the recorded voice called out again, indicating a change of status. "Personnel detection indicates the presence of a single intruder in the Offices of the Director of Magical Law Enforcement."

"One of them left," Shacklebolt observed unnecessarily.

"How the hell did they get in?" Amelia asked the room.

The door opened and silence filled the outer office.

"I'm going in, cover me," Amelia whispered.

"The hell you are," Shacklebolt replied in the same low tone. "You're the Director, we aren't risking you. Ordway, you're the protective detail for the Director. Collins, Murphy, you're with me, you two go low, I'm taking high."

The three Aurors took up their positions on either side of the doorway and made their offensive entrance on Shacklebolt's signal.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

Amelia waited for three agonizing seconds until the silence was broken.

"Clear!" Murphy called out.

"Clear!" Collins agreed.

"Director," Kingsley called. "I think you need to see this."

Amelia shook off her minder and made her way into her own office. A quick survey found no obvious damage to the room and an unconscious man bound to her chair. Stuck to the man's chest was a familiar looking sheet of parchment.

 _ **\- Hello, my name is Bartemius Crouch Junior. As you may recall, I died in Azkaban Prison, but I'm feeling much better now.**_

 _ **If I were the sort of person who was comfortable telling the Director of Magical Law Enforcement her job, I would suggest that someone might want to question my father under Veritaserum. A less charitable soul might suggest that his wand might be tested for any of the Unforgivables that could possibly have left a trace on his wand from being cast daily for the last decade or so, but I'm not that sort of person at all, so don't worry about hearing that from me, Madam Bones.**_

 _ **At any rate, despite my resurrection, I have just had an exceptionally bad day and I would truly appreciate any consideration that you might extend me.**_

Amelia's mouth went dry. Whoever was behind this had access to her office... If he could get into her office, then he could get into her home.

"Auror Shacklebolt," she snapped. "Sound the All Clear, then report to Azkaban for the prisoner transfer. Someone get the shift supervisor in my office as soon as possible, and contact the Ministry Ward team. Obviously, someone hasn't been doing their ward maintenance if my office can be entered so easily."

Two inexplicably living dead men had been presented to Amelia all gift-wrapped in less than three months. Someone was doing this and that someone was making her department look bad. No one did that to the DMLE, no one.

Whoever this mysterious person was, he was going to be found, and he was going to explain his actions to her. If she did not like his explanation, the mystery man was in for a very bad day.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **11 January 1991.**

Harry huddled on his mattress in the darkness of his cupboard. It was all so unfair. He had been in class when Dudley had fallen down the stairs. How could it possibly have been his fault?

Not that that particular logic made any difference to his Aunt and Uncle. A screaming Vernon had met Harry at the door when he arrived home; demanding to know why Harry's freakishness had dared to hurt poor Dudley and a huge hand had thrust Harry into his cupboard and locked him in before the fat man thundered off to join Petunia at the hospital where Dudley was being cared for.

Time stretches when you are alone in the dark, as Harry knew all too well. He tried to go to sleep so that the time would pass, but his hunger prevented that. There had been no breakfast that morning. Dudley had devoured the last of it before Harry had even had a chance to sit down. Then Dudley had taken Harry's lunch, delivering a punch to the stomach in way of payment, and now no dinner. Harry's stomach seemed to agree with his assessment of the situation because it decided to chime in with its own chorus of complaint.

"Are you hungry Harry Potter?"

Harry sat up at the sound of the unknown voice. "Who's there?"

The small cupboard filled with a soft glow. "Dobby is Dobby, Harry Potter. How can Dobby help you?"

Harry blinked at the sudden light, slowly the speaker took focus. It was an odd creature, no more than two feet tall with huge, green, tennis ball-sized eyes, large flappy ears and a long thin nose that tapered like a pencil.

Harry blinked and rubbed his eyes. He must have managed to go to sleep. This was a very weird dream. "Your name is Dobby?"

"Dobby is Dobby," the miniature being assured him. "Would Harry Potter like some dinner?"

"Yes, I would." Harry had relatively little experience with good dreams, so he decided to play along.

The little being beamed with happiness and disappeared with a pop.

This was a very odd dream indeed. Still, this was the point in most of his dreams when he started to hear a woman screaming his name, or a flying Vernon came and snatched all the good things away and sent him back to his cupboard...

Of course, he was already in his cupboard, so who knew what was going to happen.

There was another pop and the little man thing was back with a large plate in each hand and another just hanging in the air in front of him. The flying plate moved to directly in front of Harry and settled to the floor in front of him.

Harry was struck by how good the food on the plate smelled.

"Eat Harry Potter," Dobby said as he laid the plates in his hands beside the one already in front of the boy. "Dobby knows your favorite foods, and prepared them for you."

Harry raised a fork full of mashed potatoes to his lips. The flavor was amazing. That is when it hit him. Never before, not once, had he ever been able to smell or taste in a dream, at least he could not remember any instances. He carefully placed the fork down and pinched himself.

That hurt! Was he awake? Then what was...

"Dobby?"

"Yes, Harry Potter?"

"Are you a Brownie?"

The little being cocked his head, his large eyes clear, taking in every aspect of Harry's face. "In the old times, before the belonging, some called Dobby's people that when they would help others for food or coins, or sometimes just for the joy of work. Dobby is a House Elf, we serve magical families. Dobby serves Harry Potter."

"You serve... me?" the boy asked incredulously.

Dobby's head bobbed energetically, pleased beyond reason that the boy understood him.

"But..." words seemed to fail the boy as he tried to understand what was happening. "You said that your people served magical families and that you serve me," again Dobby nodded his agreement. "But I'm not magical."

Dobby reached out and hesitantly took the child's hand. "Harry Potter is the most magical person in the world."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **9 February 1991**

The floorboards of the old shack lifted from the floor with casual ease. There it was. Töpfer shook his head. There was most definitely a compulsion tied to the ring, but the compulsion was so decayed from the decades it had lain untended and well away from any living source of magic that what little attraction it held was more of an annoyance than a true compulsion.

Dumbledore must have been either horribly distracted, or really did not care, in order to have been controlled so easily by this little charm. The Trap, on the other hand, was amazingly active for its age. Of course, the withering curse fed off the victim's own magic, so that wasn't really surprising.

Still, it made no sense to take any chances. Ignoring the trembling of the ring on his right hand, Töpfer carefully picked the ring hidden under the floorboards using a triple lined silk bag, thereby canceling out any of its magical properties. Silk was a wonderful fabric for dealing with, and insulating, cursed items, though even through the silk he could feel the ring calling to itself. He would have to be very careful.

Töpfer left the ramshackle shack to begin the long walk into town. Once he reached the country lane outside the property, he paused to nod to Frank Bryce as the Caretaker of the old Riddle house spotted him leaving the Gaunt property. If things went well the old man would die in his own bed rather than murdered by the last of the Riddles, Töpfer mused, before deciding he was going to have to do something about both of Riddle's ancestral homes... it was going to have an unfortunate fire the next time Bryce went to town for a pint...

Two down, Töpfer reflected. The cup was still safely in Bellatrix's vault, the diadem in Hogwarts, and the locket was at Grimmauld place. Now that he was free, Sirius would probably be able to help him with two of them once he was out of St. Mungos, and the other...

Töpfer was hesitant to try to approach Hogwarts stealthily... he still had no idea how the cloak would react to itself, much less the wand. He did know that the ring really hated being in proximity to itself. He was going to have to destroy that particular Horcrux as soon as possible so that balance could be achieved.

Perhaps the best way into Hogwarts was to be invited.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **12 February 1991**

Vernon Dursley was a large man. 'Big Boned' he had always told himself, and strong as an ox, just as an Englishman should be.

Which is only one of the reasons he could not quite wrap his mind around the way he was being held against the wall of his living room by a tiny creature perhaps two feet tall.

"You will not harm Harry Potter!" the beast said in a tone that did not brook any discussion. Unfortunately, the elf was being too subtle for Vernon.

"You can't do this you little freak," Vernon bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Not in my house. I will do with the boy what I will."

The creature gestured and a large butcher knife flew into the room from Petunia's kitchen. "If Stupid Fat Muggle man will not listen to reason, then Dobby will deal with Stupid Fat Muggle man. Harry Potter sir's safety only requires Harry Potter's squib Aunt, not the Stupid Fat Muggle man, not the Stupid Fat boy." The knife buried itself in the wall next to Vernon's throat. "Has Dobby made Dobby understood?"

Dobby took the way the Vernon soiled himself as an answer.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **24 February 1991**

"Who are you?" Sirius Black asked from his bed as he regarded the young man who had just entered his private room.

"Sirius," Töpfer said quietly. "You need to pull yourself together so that you can get out of here. Harry needs you."

"Harry?" the dog animagus asked sitting up in his bed. "You know where he is?"

"I do," Töpfer admitted. "And he needs you. Before we can make him safe, you need to get better and out of here."

With a speed that denied his apparent frailty, Sirius' hands flashed out to take hold of Töpfer's robes. "Who are you?"

The stranger smiled. "A friend."

"I don't like secrets," Sirius said, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. "Secrets are what got me locked up for a decade in Azkaban."

"No, being a selfish fucking idiot is what got you locked up for a decade in Azkaban," the younger man disagreed. "If you had done your job and protected Harry instead of leaving him to Hagrid so that you could chase after Pettigrew you would never have gone to Azkaban."

"Who are you?" Black demanded again.

"Not here," the other said with a shake of his head. "It's taking most of my attention keeping my privacy wards up without disrupting the monitoring charms they have on you. Once you're out of here, I'll find you and tell you everything you want to know." He turned to leave but hesitated. "Oh, and Sirius? The next time you find yourself dueling with Bellatrix, don't play with her, don't grandstand, don't taunt her and don't be stupid. Just take the bitch out. Ok?"

Black was gaping, trying to think of something to say to that when his visitor disappeared with a soft crack.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **15 April 1991**

"Hello, Dursleys!" Töpfer called out as he entered #4, the door unlocking itself at his touch.

"Who are you?" Vernon asked as he struggled to his feet.

"Pilosus Töpfer, at your service," Töpfer said with a bow and a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. "Oh, Dobby, do you have a second?"

The Elf was suddenly in the room with them. "Harry Potter Sir will be ready in a few moments. Dobby has packed for him and will be returning the cupboard to how it was as soon as Harry Potter Sir has left."

"Good job Dobby. How's Harry?"

"Harry Potter Sir is happier than he has been for a long time. Stupid Fat Muggle man only needed a few lessons to learn his place," the Elf said happily. "Stupid Fat Squib boy needed several more lessons, but even Stupid Fat Squib boy can be trained."

"You're responsible for this beast?" Vernon thundered. "I'll have you know he hurt my boy and threatened me."

"Be glad you only had to deal with Dobby, Vernon," Töpfer laughed. "Me, I would have killed you, you fat waste of flesh. If I had more time, I'd torture you to death for what you've done to Harry."

"The boy was dropped off on our doorstep without as much as a by your leave," the fat man spat. "He's lucky we didn't drown him that first morning."

"Was someone at the door Vernon?" Petunia called as she entered the room, only to be horrified to discover the Elf and the strange man standing in her sitting room. "Oh, no!"

"Oh, yes Petunia," Töpfer smiled. "You've enough magic to recognize a wizard, don't you?" The man slowly drew his wand. "I've got a little gift, just for you. From this day forward, your family will only speak the truth. Not the lies you all tell yourselves to make you believe you are in anyway normal, just the truth."

"What are you doing?" the woman gasped.

"They say, the truth will set you free don't they Petunia?" Töpfer asked as he moved his wand in a most complicated, and entirely made up pattern. There was not a truth charm, obviously, but the weak minds were so easily influenced. "Well, as soon as Dobby and I leave with Harry, you won't remember a thing about the two of us, but you'll remember Harry. However, you'll not have any idea what happened to him. When people start investigating Harry's disappearance… well, I'm guessing you'll have to come up with something to tell them, won't you? Enjoy life, Dursleys."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **22 April 1991**

"Why are we here sir?" Harry asked quietly, expecting punishment to follow the question, but asking anyway. His life had changed so much the last few days that he dared to imagine that he was allowed to wonder.

Instead of anger, Harry's question caused his new 'Uncle Pil' to smile. "Today is a very important day Harry," the man reached down and ruffled his hair with a fond smile. Then he pointed at the large red and white airplane with a kangaroo painted on its tail beyond the plate glass windows. "Someone very important to me is going to leave on that plane. I needed to see her leave, and I thought you might enjoy seeing the airport."

"Are you sad she is leaving?" Harry asked, still trying to understand the man who had appeared announcing himself as an uncle that his relatives had never mentioned before, and seemed frightened of.

"A little," Uncle Pil answered with another smile, this one seemed to be more than a little sad. "At the same time, I'm thrilled that she's leaving. It will be good for her, and for her parents. I wish you could have met her; you would have liked her a lot."

Harry nodded as if he understood when in truth he did not. So much about everything that had happened in the months since Dobby first appeared in his cupboard did not make any sense. Dobby insisted that Harry was magical, though Harry did not feel magical. He had tried many times to duplicate some of the things that he had seen Dobby and then later Uncle Pil do, but had failed every time.

"I wish I could have met your friend," Harry said, "and I'm sorry you're going to miss her."

Töpfer smiled sadly. "I'll miss her for the rest of my life Harry, but it's necessary." The plane started to move away from the jetway, and Töpfer sighed. "Time to go. We need for you to meet a couple of very important people. They were two of your parents' closest friends and have been friends of mine forever."

"Who are they?" Harry wondered.

Töpfer ruffled Harry's hair again. "One of them is your godfather, and the other is a werewolf."

"A werewolf?" Harry squeaked. "Seriously? Do we need silver bullets?"

"Only if you want Remus to laugh at you," Töpfer grinned. "Come on mate, we've got places to be, people to meet, and things to do."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **22 April 1991**

"Be careful, Sirius" Remus said as he led his old friend down the stairs from St Mungos' entrance.

"I'm not a total invalid, Remus," Black grumbled good-naturedly. "You need to quit blaming yourself"

"I quite agree,"

Meeting Sirius

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **16 April 1991**

Topher secures the locket

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **31 July 1991.**

"Master? Please!" Quirinus Quirrell whimpered as he leaned against the brick wall of the alley behind Gringotts. "The vault was empty, how was I to know that?"

"You failed me Quirrel!" a high-pitched voice came from behind the man's head. "I find I must take personal control."

"Your problem Tom," another voice broke in, "is your penchant for selecting substandard help.

Quirrell spun to face the new speaker, his wand at the ready. "Who are you?"

The stranger stood his ground and smiled. "Do you really think I'm frightened of p-p-poor, st-stuttering P-Professor Quirrell?"

Quirrell blinked in confusion. Where had that come from? He had never seen the man before.

"I'm not here to speak to the help, Quirrell, turn around and let me see your Master."

The high voice spoke again. "Let me speak to him… face to face…"

"Master?" Quirrell asked. "Are you sure?"

"I have strength enough… for this…"

The stranger watched as Quirrell turned away and reached up to unwrap his turban until it fell away. Where there should have been a back to Quirrell's head, there was a face, a terrible face, chalk white with glaring red eyes and slits for nostrils, like a snake.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the man who is going to kill your host," the other man said. "He, and by extension, you, are in my way."

"I cannot be killed," the face said, its eyes flaring with an internal light.

"Yeah, I know, but killing the host weakens you horribly, doesn't it?" The stranger asked as his wand appeared in his hand, a cutting curse removing Quirrell's head from his body. A black mist rose from the fallen head and moved purposefully toward the stranger.

A golden glow manifested in front of the man and the mist rebounded. "Not today Tom. Not today. See you in a few years."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **5 August 1991**

Albus frowned as he looked over the few CVs he had for the Defense position.

Four. How was he supposed to choose from these four unknowns?

Adam Crossling, retired Auror, was he really that old? Thinking back, Albus realized that Crossling actually was 149. He recalled Crossling being a Hufflepuff three years ahead of him. No, that wouldn't do at all.

He picked up the next CV and read the name. Belinda Kepler, disabled retired Auror, 92. Well, she was younger than Crossling, but since she was lacking her right eye, right arm and left leg at the knee, there was a question as to how much she would frighten the children. No.

Jason Croup, 36. Dumbledore dimly remembered the man from his time at Hogwarts, a Ravenclaw whose grades were in the middle of the pack for the school at large. A Pureblood, who while not a Supremacist by any extent of the imagination, had expectations of privilege that his performance had never rated. The man's experience was exactly nil. He had not held a single job since leaving Hogwarts. No.

He reached for the final CV. Pilosus Töpfer?

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **7 August 1991**

"Our first order of business should be the welcoming of our newest Professor to the staff," Minerva McGonagall said to her assembled staff. "Witches and Wizards of Hogwarts, may I present Pilosus Töpfer."

A short round of polite applause met this announcement. Pomona Sprout asked, "What is Pilosus going to be teaching?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Albus Dumbledore looked up from the letter on the table. "Thank you for coming in on such short notice Mr. Töpfer."

"Not at all, Headmaster, I'd like to thank you for the opportunity."

"The unfortunate murder of Quirinus Quirrell necessitates we find a replacement before school starts on the first of September. You, of course, know Minerva to my left. She is my deputy and head of Gryffindor House, to my right is Severus Snape, the head of Slytherin House, Pomona Sprout, the head of Hufflepuff House and Filius Flitwick, the head of Ravenclaw House. The rest of the staff you will be meeting between now and the start of school."

Töpfer nodded to the assembled professors and seemed to be waiting for questions.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Pilosus," Filius Flitwick said. "Where were you trained? I know you didn't attend Hogwarts, as I remember all of my students, so I was wondering where you were educated."

"I was homeschooled," Töpfer explained. "My father came away from the Grindelwald war somewhat damaged and he isolated himself away from the world. My mother was a girl from the village where he settled and father taught me himself."

"And somehow that qualifies you to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts?" Snape asked incredulously. "Headmaster I must protest this waste of all of our time. Send this dunderhead away and I will fill the position myself."

"Actually, Severus," Töpfer interjected before Dumbledore could say anything, "I was simply explaining my education. My principle tuition in the Defense Against the Dark Arts was the time I spent fighting Death Eaters."

"Excuse me?" The potions master asked icily.

"My mother and father were killed during a Death Eater raid in 1979 when I was away in Germany on business. I came home and started returning the favor."

"You expect us to believe a child like you fought Death Eaters?" Snape sneered.

"Well, you and I are roughly the same age Severus," Töpfer pointed out. "And you were old enough to actually BE a Death Eater, I can't imagine why you would have problems imagining someone our age fighting against you."

"I would ask just where you learned of Severus's youthful mistakes Mr. Topher," Dumbledore asked.

"I'm not sure if I would call associating with murderers to be a 'youthful mistake' Headmaster, but for how I learned of Severus's associations was from your declarations in open court. Unlike many of our fellow magicals, I actually pay attention to what is happening in the world around me. It is all part of the situation awareness that I learned in dealing with Severus' former associates."

"How dare you?" Snape snapped rising from his seat, only to settle back into his chair after a withering look from the Headmaster.

"This is all very interesting Mr. Topher," Filius broke in, enjoying the fact that this newcomer was pointing out certain details of Severus Snape's life that the unpleasant man might not want to be public knowledge. "Perhaps you could expand on this situational awareness you spoke of."

"Certainly. Situational Awareness is the condition of being aware of what is going on around you. For example, in this room the Headmaster is the most powerful by quite a margin, followed by yourself Professor, of course, both of you have far-flung reputations, so knowing that is not much of a surprise. Then I would place Professor McGonagall, as a transfiguration mistress, she might well be the most dangerous person in the room."

Töpfer paused and smiled at the nod he received from the Deputy Headmistress, then he resumed, "I personally have been working freelance assignments from various law enforcement agencies around the world. Then Professor Sprout. While she has gone out of her way to carefully cultivate the image of a harmless woman besotted by her plants, I recall what happened when a team of Death Eaters attacked her home village in Devon, when pressed I suspect the good professor is quite dangerous."

"You've covered three of the four Heads of House, what of Severus?" Flitwick asked.

Töpfer hesitated for a moment before answering. "I'm not sure I should…"

"Oh, yes," Snape drawled dangerously, "Tell us what your vaunted situational awareness tells you about me…"

"Well, if you insist Severus," Töpfer said with a smile. "Taking the Headmaster at his word that you never participated in any attacks during your time with Voldemort's followers, and the acknowledging testimony by the various convicted Death Eaters that Voldemort sent every capable wand out on raids, that would suggest that while you are undoubtedly a Master Brewer, your wand skills must leave much to be desired."

"How dare you!" Snape bellowed rising from his chair again.

"Severus!" Dumbledore thundered. "You asked the question."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **13 August 1991**

"A moment of your time, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore did his best to not display the annoyance he felt when his evening walk of the school grounds was interrupted. "What can I do for you, Töpfer?

"Classes start in less than three weeks," the younger man said, matching his gait. "And I find myself concerned about our Potions Master."

"Concerned?" Dumbledore asked, "how so?"

"Over lunch, someone made mention of Harry Potter coming to Hogwarts this term," Töpfer explained. "His reaction was both unexpected and vile."

"Severus has a history with Harry's father, James," Dumbledore offered. "It is not terribly unexpected that some of that history might color his views on Harry."

"Really, Headmaster?" Töpfer asked incredulously. "Because Severus had problems with a man dead for a decade, you find it acceptable that he is likely to be abusive to a child?"

"I hardly think…"

"Headmaster," Töpfer sighed, "we discussed my adventures in ridding the world of Death Eaters during my interview."

"We did," Dumbledore admitted.

"I ended up having to interrogate many of those I found after I defeated them. They told me many things over the years. Where to find their fellows, where their money came from, and other things."

"Yes?"

Töpfer seemed to consider his words for a moment before continuing. "Quite possibly the most disturbing information I obtained in my interrogations is that Voldemort specifically targeted the Potter and the Longbottom families because of information brought to him by Severus Snape."

Dumbledore paused for a moment. "And you believe that?"

"That a Hogwarts professor, you personally vouched for had set the madman on the Potter and Longbottom families? Not at first, no." Töpfer paused for a moment before continuing. "Then a second Death Eater told me the same story. And a third. And a fourth," Töpfer explained. "And then I met Severus. The mere mention of young Harry drives the man into a fury. I don't know if it is because the man feels guilt over what he did, or if he's just an evil bastard. Regardless, he is personally responsible for those two boys being orphaned. Severus should never have any contact with either of them."

"And you base this upon your new standing as a very junior professor at this school?" the old man asked.

"I base that upon being a decent human being," Töpfer responded. "And the fact that the man's first and only reaction to being challenged in any way is to draw his wand. He's done so three times so far with me, only the timely interventions of Minerva and yourself have prevented me from teaching him the lesson he so dearly needs to learn."

"Headmaster," Töpfer sighed as he matched the older man's pace through the halls of Hogwarts. "I can't be the only one who has figured out his secret. Severus has gone out of his ways to make enemies. Sooner or later someone will tell Augusta Longbottom or Sirius Black what they know, and then they do, if Severus has been abusive to either of the boys, you won't be able to protect him."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

 **15 August 1991**

The door shimmered into existence. It had taken some time for him to be able to get away to the Room of Requirement. Avoiding the rest of the staff long enough to make it to the Room had been a challenge.

Töpfer entered the room in its Room of Hidden things configuration and began his search for the diadem. A quick search of the area it had been in before he realized that the room appeared to reconfigure itself each time it came into being.

Since his memories would be of no use, Töpfer started a search pattern with a sigh. He should have brought a broom.

Was there a broom in the room? He looked around at the towering piles of things. Summoning a broom would likely be a mistake, risking a chance of an avalanche. He smiled to himself for a moment; something like that happening would just be his luck.

The search took two full hours, even knowing exactly what he was looking for. Three down, he reflected as he captured the diadem in its own silk pouch. Two to go. The cup was in Gringotts and Nagini had yet to be… well, possessed.

That only left Harry, and there was no way in hell he was going to allow anyone to hit little Harry with a killing curse.

There had to be something he could do. Something else.

 **A/N: This is** an ongoing **project started in 2010. I'd just finished reading one of the** multitudes **of 'Time Travel' flicks where our hero, be it Harry, Hermione or whoever who come back in time, and then very carefully changes nothing so as to not 'change the timeline and give up his advantage'.**

 **My inner (and** outer **) smartass came to the fore and I asked myself, what about a protagonist who doesn't give a single solitary damn about the timeline. One who makes it back to the past in his adult form, as the Master of Death, will all three Hallows at his command, and he's going to do what it takes to fix things while he can.**

 **My reasoning for this (not yet explained in the** story **, is that he doesn't know how long he'll be there. The spell is fragile, it could pop like a soap bubble at any time, sending him back to where he came from or just evaporating him, period. His goal in life is to win as much as he can as quickly as he** can **and fuck the consequences to the timeline.**

 **So, the Free Death Eaters all have 'accidents', Quirrell has an accident, the Horcruxes (** Horcruxi **?) are gotten (with Töpfer finding out that the Hallows REALLY don't like being near themselves. The Ring hates being near the Ring, the Cloak hates the Cloak and the two wands… I've got some bits written with Dumbles worried half to death with how the Elder Wand is acting.**

 **Sirius is free, Remus has his head pulled out of his ass, and Harry is with both of them.**

 **I still work on this as interest takes me, but if anyone wants to use it, feel free.**

 **Oh, and Pilosus Töpfer is not and never was Harry Potter.**

 **I am proud of the name… Like Flamel said, it's cute.**


	16. Neville

**A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. Nor any of the other characters or situations associated with Harry Potter. This story is particularly silly so it probably should not be read, by anyone at any time. Ever. Allowing your children to read this is most likely classified as child abuse in most civilized countries. In fact, the Dursleys probably made Harry read my stuff, evil bastards that they were. But, if you've ever read any of the tripe that passes for my writing, you already know that.**

 **The Other**

 **Chapter One - The Beginning**

It is a little-known aspect of the universe that there is always a single entity who can claim the title of Universal Supreme Bad-Ass. Entire civilizations tremble at the thought of coming into contact with the holder of the title and do everything within their power to avoid such encounters if they possibly can or placating the entity who is the living embodiment of sudden painful death.

The universe is, as any student of space can tell you, an unimaginably large place. This means that entire planets, entire star systems, and indeed entire galaxies go through their entire existence without ever coming into contact with one of these beings of power, so it is understandably confusing when one considers that a minor planet circling an underachieving yellow star which was itself gravitationally bound to one of the arms of a minor spiral galaxy would not only be the homeworld of more than one of these Avatars of Destruction but was indeed the homeworld of two of them.

Born in the year 1940, as the primary species of this insignificant planet tracked time, Carlos Ray Norris came to awareness of his power early in life and set himself on the path toward becoming a planetary hero. Simply being the Universe's Supreme Bad-Ass required iron discipline and inhuman training, and Norris excelled at both. Under the guise of being an 'Action Movie Star' Norris achieved his ultimate power following which he single-handedly stopped six bush wars, two insurrections, averted a nuclear war and prevented a nuclear reactor from melting down by glaring at it in a menacing manner. Finally, he repelled not one but three separate Alien Invasions by force of personality, strategically placed roundhouse kicks and the breaking of two very different Alien Princesses to his formidable will.

All was well in Norris' world until he woke one morning in late July 1980 and for the first time knew fear.

He had been surpassed in his sheer universal Bad-Assedness. That alone was not what had frightened him; he had always known that eventually, it would happen, just as he had been aware of the previous Supreme Bad-Ass he had replaced, but that entity had been the inhabitant of a planet half a universe distant. The one who had surpassed Norris actually lived on Earth.

In the history of the universe, no planet had ever hosted more than one Supreme Bad-Ass over its lifespan, much less hosting two in a row. This was an incident of great importance, but just what it meant would not become clear until much later.

Norris had choices to make. His senses told him that if he were foolish enough to challenge the newcomer he would lose and lose badly. There was nowhere he could run to escape the wrath of the new Supreme Bad-Ass, so his only hope was to sink into obscurity and hope that the newcomer did not find it worth his while to eliminate his predecessor.

Norris set in motion the actions that would end his movie career and start his move into bad television shows, infomercials, and ill-advised political punditry. His time in the sun was over. Saving the world was the job of the new kid.

Norris paused for a moment before he signed the contract that would save his life. Would anyone actually believe that he had gotten his physique from this 'Total Gym' toy? Ah, the madness of it all. As he signed his name on the contract that started his path to obscurity, he wished the new kid well.

What kind of name was Neville Longbottom anyway?

 **-oooOOOooo-**

As the Universe's newest Supreme Bad Ass gained consciousness for the first time, a single thought echoed through his mind. That first thought was "What kind of name was Chuck Norris anyway?"

Neville Franklin Longbottom grew, as most children do, under the watchful eye of his family. His mother, Alice, knew of his specialness from the very first. Frank, his father, did not truly understand how special his son was until the man bent over to pick his son up, planning to play their favorite game of 'toss Neville into the air' and suddenly found himself flying toward the ceiling, with his giggling seven-month-old son doing the throwing.

At eight months of age, Neville began speaking, skipping the entire 'Mama' and 'Dada' stage and going directly to complete, if mispronounced, sentences.

Even Universal Supreme Badasses can have childhood speech impediments.

 **A/N: Yeah, a Super Neville story. As the Universe's Supreme Badass, he still loses his mother and father to Bella and crew but wanders in near the end and Bella casts** cruciatus **on him.**

 **Causing Neville to say "Owie!" and then beat them all senseless.**

 **Basically, I'm setting up a Batman origin for Nev, with Augusta as his 'Alfred'. Trevor is the Loch Ness Monster who Neville adopted as a pet. I've got a scene in outline where a tiny 3-year-old Neville faces down an 80 foot Nessy saying "Sit!" Fortunately for everyone's sanity, old Trevor has the ability to change himself into a toad.**

 **Not really sure where it could go from here...**


	17. Whatever Happened to the DA?

**A/N: I do not own Harry Potter. Nor any of the other characters or situations associated with Harry Potter. This story is particularly silly so it probably should not be read, by anyone at any time. Ever. Allowing your children to read this is most likely classified as child abuse in most civilized countries. In fact, the Dursleys probably made Harry read my stuff, evil bastards that they were. But then if you've ever read any of the tripe that passes for my writing, you already know that.**

 **Whatever Happened to the Defense Association?**

 **Chapter 1: Assignment**

 **The Weekly Scryer**

 **Main Offices**

 **Diagon Alley**

 **London, England**

 **August 25, 2038**

"Sit down Beckett."

Cameron Davis is my boss and my editor, and despite those two things that pretty much ensure that I should hate him on principle, he is a reasonably good bloke. I sat down and tried not to show my surprise when he slid three fingers of single malt in front of me. Booze? During the day in the office? What the hell?

"So, what's going on Cam?" I asked while taking the glass in my hand and regarding it suspiciously. "Am I fired? Is this your way of breaking it to me gently?"

"Fired?" He asked incredulously. "You should be so lucky. No, I want to talk to you about your next story, and you've always thought better with a drink in your hand."

I had spent most of the last thirty years cultivating the image of the hard drinking, hard living reporter. It seemed that at very least, my boss had started believing it. "So, what's up?" I asked.

"Some things have been bothering me recently," the older man said, after taking a pull at his own drink. "There was another Potter sighting yesterday."

A Potter sighting? Oh Merlin, no. "There are always Potter sightings. Whenever people somehow survive a situation that doesn't seem survivable, someone sees Potter. And someone else sees Dumbledore, and someone else sees Merlin."

"And whenever something goes wrong in a horrible way someone sees Grindelwald or Voldemort," Cam agreed, refilling his glass. "But that's not my point. My Granddaughter is visiting."

"Is she?" I asked, wondering what his granddaughter visiting had to do with some loony spotting Harry Potter.

"Yes, and she got her N.E.W.T. results yesterday. She got Os across the board, with a special award in excellence in Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Congratulations," I said hoping that he would get to the point.

"Thanks, that's exactly what I told her. Then I teased her that her score in DADA would make people think that she might have been trained by the Defense Association." Cam took another long pull at his glass. I was hoping that he got to the point soon as he was well on the way to getting very messily drunk.

"She just looked at me with those big blue eyes and said, 'Pop Pop, I'm almost eighteen now, you don't have to tell me the fairy tales about Harry Potter and the DA anymore." Cam ran his right hand through his thinning white hair. "She thinks that Potter and his cohort at Hogwarts and their fight against Voldemort are just stories we tell kids about some famous people grouping them around an imaginary hero to keep them on the straight and narrow, and she tells me that all of her friends figured that out years ago."

That was... odd. I was born only three years after the fall of Voldemort, I grew up with everyone knowing the DA and their adventures against the Dark Lord... to think that the latest crop of young adults believed that none of that ever actually happened... "Well," I said theorizing as I went, "Binns is still the only exposure to history most kids get."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. I sat Therese down and showed her exactly what happened back then and she was amazed, but she still doesn't really... believe..."

I shrugged. "Kids? What are you going to do?"

"I was up all night thinking about her generation not knowing about those times, Beckett," Cam said standing up from his desk to start pacing about his office. "Between Therese's ignorance and the latest Potter sightings I knew that there is a story that needs to be told." He stopped in front of my chair. "And you're going to tell it. That's your next story, 'Whatever happened to the Defense Association?"

Merlin on a crutch! As soon as the words were out of his mouth, I realized that he was right. There was a massive story just waiting to be told there... A story that might even get me my third Lovegood award for Investigative Journalism.

"I had Research get you everything we have on the DA," Cam said sliding a three-foot high stack of paper and parchment in front of me. "Now get to work."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

My name is Harry Thomas Beckett. Yeah, I know, an annoyingly famous given name, I have heard all the jokes.

Hell, there were four Harrys in my year at Hogwarts (and two Rons, four Lunas, two Lavenders, two different sets of twin girls named Parvati and Padma despite neither set being of Indian descent, and three Hermiones). When I was five and Hermione Granger's book on the Voldemort Wars came out, my mother was truly appalled to discover that my middle name was an almost tribute to the Dark Lord as well. Moreover, in my 4th year, a Muggleborn Ravenclaw informed me that my middle and surnames came from a famous Muggle priest of some kind.

Once I left Hogwarts, I set out to follow a dream. I was going to be a reporter. I was going to peel back the darkness and improve the world by showing everyone the truth.

That dream almost died when I landed a job at the Daily Prophet and was assigned to the circulation department where everyone around me laughed at my dreams of actually writing for the paper long and hard.

I lasted all of 23 days at the Daily Prophet.

I crossed the street to the Quibbler where I begged for a position as an intern. Old Xeno Lovegood looked me up and down a few times before barking out, "Luna!"

A blonde woman stuck her head in the door to Xeno's office. "Yeah Chief?"

"Don't call me Chief you slacker. If you want to take a holiday, you've got two days to teach Beckett here how to write copy so that I can spare you."

"Right Chief. Come on Beckett." she said.

I followed her out to a small cube farm. "This desk is yours, at least until the Chief or I fire you," she said pointing to the empty desk across from hers. "Here's the notes for an attempted robbery at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, let's see what you come up with for copy. No more than 500 words."

I spent an hour on that piece and presented it certain that I would dazzle her. She picked up a red pencil and read my story.

"Crap," she said lining out most of the first paragraph, "wordy crap," she said redacting all of the second. "You've got your lead buried halfway through the third paragraph." The blond woman looked up at me. "Your spelling isn't bad, and your grammar is pretty good. You don't seem to like to use a single word when five or six will do, but I suppose I can beat that out of you over the next couple of days. Are you really sure you want to be a writer?"

I fought against my first impulse to argue for the wording of my story by reminding myself that she was a professional and I wanted to join her profession. "Yes. I want to write."

"Ok, we can work with that Harry Beckett," she said with a small smile. "If you want to write you're going to have to get used to editors. An editor lives to take your carefully worded prose and hack at it with a blunt axe until it fits in the column inches he needs to fill, and the Chief is the most unforgiving hard arse you will ever meet when it comes to the signature style of the Quibbler. It will be years before you have to rewrite a story fewer than three times to please him, assuming you last that long." She handed my story back to me. "Try again. When you're done, we'll compare it to mine."

It was not until she had been gone for two days on her month long vacation that I realized that the 'Luna' who had taught me to write in the Quibbler style was the famous Luna Lovegood.

Xeno actually printed my third story, and I still have it framed and on display on my 'I love me' wall at home, though in all honesty, reading it now, the Quibbler must have been hurting for filler. I really cannot believe I ever wrote that badly. Evidently, the old man saw something in me because after the third week, he started paying me. I was with the Quibbler for five years before Xeno called me into his office and fired me.

I must have looked quite the fool standing there with my mouth hanging open. I really had not expected that.

"Look kid," he growled. "I'm doing you the biggest favor of your life. You're too good for the Quibbler, and have been for a while. You need to move on so that you can become what you are going to be."

"But Chief," I pleaded, "I love it here, we do good work. Besides, Luna is a far better writer than I am."

"Don't call me Chief!" he thundered before softening. "Pull your head out of your arse Beckett. You do love it here, and we do good work, that's granted. But, that's also the problem, you aren't growing. You've become too comfortable. You're never going to achieve all you can by staying here. And yes, Luna does write better than you, but I can't fire her."

"Because she's your daughter..." I whined.

"NO!" he shouted again before he continued. "Luna being my daughter has nothing to do with it. She owns fifty-one percent of the company. I can't count the number of times I've tried to fire her to force her to grow beyond the Quibbler. Every time I try, she fires me and then rehires herself. You, on the other hand, don't own any of the Quibbler stock, and you can't fire me, so you're fired. Clean out your desk!"

So I did. I got a gig in the States for two years writing for the Magical Edition of Time magazine, which led to five years at the Sydney Herald. Xeno Lovegood died when I was at the Herald. As soon as I heard, I quit and caught the first flight home. I arrived in time to hold Luna's hand as they laid the old man to rest, and then to hold her as she cried that night.

The next morning, she was in the office as usual, but I found her standing in Xeno's office, looking a bit lost. I knocked on the door and was not at all surprised to see fresh tears in her eyes.

"You're not coming back here Harry," she said. "Daddy was right; you're too good to spend your talent here."

"I can stay and help Luna." I said feeling like leaving would be betraying Xeno. Nevertheless, I could tell that Luna had her mind made up, so I tried the 'I've got no other options' ploy, "I quit the Herald."

"I said no, you hack!" she shouted trying to look fierce, before her face softened again. "Look Harry, I've called Cameron Davis at the Scryer, and he's willing to give you a chance," seeing the look on my face she smiled thinly and continued. "Don't worry Harry, you'll fit in just fine at the Scryer, they'll love your wordy crap."

And they did. The Scryer was the first Glossy News magazine in Magical Britain, becoming very popular in very short order, and modesty prevents me from claiming any kind of credit for that, but I like to think I helped.

The year after Xeno's death Luna established the Lovegood Awards for Journalism, and I won the first year. No, it was not a payoff for my friendship with the Lovegood family as some have suggested, as the selection committee was specifically set up to be independent. I was quite justifiably proud of that award, and even more so for its twin that I picked up a decade later.

Now there was every possibility that yet another story concerning the Lovegoods would win me a triplet.

I jotted out a short note to Luna requesting an interview and handed it to a messenger Elf, with my thanks for the service.

While waiting for her response, I started working on what questions I wanted to ask.

 **-oooOOOooo-**

The messenger Elf returned with a note from Luna's assistant telling me that the publisher of the Quibbler was unavailable until further notice.

That told me that my favorite blonde was on the latest of her cryptobiology hunts. When I still worked for Xeno, I went along on two of those hunts. We never found a damned thing, but Merlin's beard, they were fun. It was while feeling a bit of envy that I never seemed to have that much fun anymore I redirected the Elf to the next three members of the old DA on my list.

In less than five minutes, the Elf had returned. There was a reason that Dobby's Messenger service had replaced Owls for most business correspondence throughout Europe. The small being held three responses to my request for an interview. Two of the notes were requests for more information about what I wanted to speak to them about. The third simply had a phone number and the words 'Call me.'

 **-oooOOOooo-**

"First Interview with Dennis Creevy," I said into my Weasley Tech recorder. "Today is August 19th 2048, it is 4:15 pm. This interview is being held in the Mr. Creevy's office in the Corporate Office Building for First Gen International."

I carefully placed the recorder on the desk between us and picked up my fountain pen. I smiled to myself. A First Gen product, how appropriate.

"Thank you for agreeing to the interview Mr. Creevy."

"Normally I'd have suggested you approach my PR department," the big man rumbled. "But you wanted to talk about the DA. I looked up your record Beckett, you do good work and the Scryer is a reputable magazine, but let me be very clear, if you are planning a hatchet piece I will destroy you."

I blinked. That was most specifically not the response I expected. Dennis Creevy was famous worldwide for his easygoing nature.

"Excuse me?"

"Time and again, both before and after the Battle of Hogwarts, the DA has been attacked by the press and those bastards at the Ministry. Your compatriots have maligned Harry Potter, the DA, and even those who died in that war. My brother died protecting Hogwarts and I've made it my business to make sure those who make that mistake don't make another working for any newspaper in the English speaking world."

Well that was surprising, and he had waited until I had my recorder running too. "Bravo," I said offering the man a small golf clap. "I've been a reporter for three decades Mr. Creevy. I have been threatened with everything from having my taxes audited to death, and I've never hesitated to write the story I intended to. For the record, I do not intend to write a negative story Mr. Creevy. Whatever I write will be the truth. My editor specifically assigned this story to me because he discovered that the current crop of Hogwarts graduates believes the recorded experiences of the DA to by little more than myth."

Creevy sat back in his chair with a wry smile. "Sorry Beckett, long bitter experience. I have learned the hard way to suspect the worst from reporters and government people. I know you worked with the Lovegoods, but a man has to be sure, you know?"

There was silence between us for a few moments and until it was broken by Creevy.

"I was all of 14 years old when Voldemort came for us."

"So young?" I asked. Despite having read Granger's history of the event, the ages of the defenders of Hogwarts had never really sunk in.

"I was far from the youngest," Creevy laughed. "But I was the same age Harry was when he won the Triwizard Tournament so I knew I was ready to do my bit. My brother Colin was all of 16, the seventh years were at very most 18. We were all so young."

"So, tell me what you saw," I probed.

"Remember I didn't see all that much," His smile dimmed a bit as the memories came back. "I had something of an over protective brother." He gestured to a large framed photo on the wall. The photo showed two young boys mobbing a third. The boy in the center was none other than Harry Potter. "Ron Weasley nicked Colin's camera and took that picture. I always told him that he should have taken up photography professionally."

I tried not to smile as the taller of the two Creevys reached over to ruffle his younger brother's hair, while an extremely uncomfortable Harry Potter squirmed under the attention.

"The day of the attack, Colin put me in a body bind when I had my back turned, and stuck me disillusioned to the underside of his bed," Creevey said, his eyes seeing the events of so long ago. "That was the last time I ever saw him alive. He told me that I had to live so that our folks wouldn't lose both of us. The berk was actually crying. By the time I got free, it was over, my brother was dead, and so was Voldemort."

"And Potter." I added.

"I don't know about that," Creevy said with a shake of his head. "Everyone told me he was gone, but I never saw his body. I don't think anyone did."

"So," I said trying to think of what to ask him next. He had actually been there in the minutes after the final battle between the DA and Voldemort's Death Eaters. Did the old man really believe that Potter might still be out there somewhere? "What do you think happened with Potter?"

"Harry was the most private person I've ever known in my life," Creevy said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Mostly he just wanted to be left alone. If he survived, I am sure he's somewhere quiet and peaceful. I hope he is, and I hope he found someone to spend his life with."

"Do you have any likely candidates for that position?" I asked.

"Several," Creevy laughed, before his face clouded, the humor fleeing his eyes. "And that is where my happy vision breaks down. There were several women who would have crawled over broken glass for Harry back then," the man sighed. "And they're all still around."

 **-oooOOOooo-**

"First Interview with Ronald and Lavender Weasley," I said, setting the scene for my recorder. "Today is August 25th 2048, it is 4:15 pm. This interview is being held in the Weasley home in Dorsett." I placed the recorder on the table between us.

"Thank you for agreeing to the interview," I said.

"You can thank my wife. Lavender thought speaking to you was a good idea," Weasley said brushing his trademark red mop from his eyes. "If you've done your research on me, you'll know why I don't hold your profession in very high regard."

"Ron," his wife chided. "This interview is about the DA for a retrospective on the membership. It is not a story about Harry, and it is not another 'he should have retired five years before he did' stories either."

"I personally, would never write one of those stories, Mr. Weasley," I interjected to lighten the move. "You and your Cannons won me so much money back in the day I could hardly believe I'm in the same room as you. Bets on you winning financed my first broom."

That easy smile that an entire generation of Cannons fans knew spread across his face. "Sweet talker."

"Unlike most of the DA, your lives after Hogwarts and the fall of Voldemort are well known to the public. Your tryout for Chudley was one of most covered events in magical sport of the day, and your time as a model made you just as famous Mrs. Weasley."

"Lavender, please," she said with a smile.

"And I'm Ron." Weasley said. "When I hear someone say 'Mr. Weasley' I think I should be looking for my dad… Or maybe my brother Bill…"

"Thank you," I said before nodding toward my recorder. "This article was inspired by my Editor discovering that his granddaughter and her friends all believe that Harry Potter and by extension his Defense Association to be stories told to inspire children to behave."

Weasley sat up straight in his chair. "I knew that about the DA, but Harry too?" he asked incredulously.

"We've heard that about the DA from our own grandchildren and their friends," Lavender Weasley confided. "'Oh come on Gran, you're going to try to claim that you fought off an Alpha Werewolf?' is an exact quote from one of our grandsons." She smiled sadly, "I almost showed him my scars. But on reflection, if truth be told, I'm not sure if I really mind that children see us as grandparents rather than people who fought in a war."

"What concerned my Editor, and what concerns me, is that there are young adults who have decided that your story is a myth," I explained. "And ignoring history is the first step toward repeating it."

"I'm not sure I'd go that far," Weasley said, relaxing into his chair once again. "I doubt the kiddies thinking the horrors we went through would cause a new Dark Lord to come to power, but I take your larger point. Harry deserves to be remembered. The DA… Well, we've all just gone about living our lives."

"Who have you spoken with so far?" his wife asked.

"So for," I replied, "Dennis Creevy and yourselves."

"You got Dennis to give you an interview?" Lavender asked incredulously. "He hates reporters with a burning passion."

"He threatened my livelihood first," I assured her. "It was only my association with the Lovegood family that got me through the door."

"The same reason we're speaking with you," Ron Weasley nodded. "Is Luna on your list?"

"First on my list," I admitted. "The only reason I didn't go to her first is that she's unavailable. I spent enough time with her and Xeno to know that means she's on one of her cryptid hunts. I'd also like to speak with the Patil sisters, but with them living in India, I'm not sure the Scryer's budget will allow that trip."

Lavender smiled. "They are far too busy being grandmothers to bother with us anymore. Well, I'm sure you've reached out to Hermione and was told she was busy, what about the other Weasleys, Sue Bones, the Longbottoms, the Thomas' or Seamus Finnegan?"

"Finnegan?" I asked, the surprise on my side this time. "Should I approach him? About the DA? And do you really think the head of the DMLE would actually speak with me?"

"Seamus wasn't a fan of Harry a lot of the time," Weasley laughed as his wife pulled out a piece of parchment and began writing, "the short-sighted twat, but when it came time to fight, he was there with the rest of us. And as far as Sue Bones goes, you'll never get her on the record about most things, but about the DA and the War? She'll be your best source."

"The full membership of the DA was never made public," Lavender admitted, handing me a hand-written note. "Some were a bit publicity shy, others didn't want the attention. Most of them will speak with you. I'll put out a word."

I glanced at the list.

Hannah Abbott, Lavender Brown, Katie Bell, Susan Bones, Terry Boot, Cho Chang, Michael Corner, Colin Creevey, Dennis Creevey, Marietta Edgecombe, Justin Finch-Fletchley, Seamus Finnigan, Anthony Goldstein, Hermione Granger, Angelina Johnson, Lee Jordan, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, Ernie Macmillan, Padma Patil, Parvarti Patil, Harry Potter, Zacharias Smith, Alicia Spinnet, Dean Thomas, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ginny Weasley, and Ron Weasley. My mouth went dry. The full list of the DA Membership, those still alive and those who didn't survive the war.

There were some important people I'd never known were members on this list. This story just kept getting bigger and bigger.

"She put Edgecombe on that damned list, didn't she?" Weasley growled. "Damned traitor."

"Marietta was 16 years old and was being threatened by the entire government and her parents," Lavender sniffed at her husband. "I said then, and I say now that Hermione went overboard with her protections and punishments for violating the DA's charter. Don't forget that just like Seamus, when the fighting started, she was there with the rest of us. Talk to her Mr. Beckett, she may well be the last of us to see Harry."

"Thank you," I said, meaning it. "We had best get to the interview before I waste any more of your time. But before we get to the origins of the DA, it might make things easier to start off talking about 'that day'."

"That day," Weasley said, closing his eyes and sighing. "It always comes down to 'that day' doesn't it."

"Ron?" Lavender asked, reaching to take her husband's hand.

"No, it's okay, it's only when we actually talk about it that it becomes real to me that it's been more than 50 years since I last saw my best mate."

 **A/N: I still pull this one out and play with it from time to time. The problem with it is trying to come up with ways to pull the membership into it without all of them telling the same story over and over.**

 **I know my ending, and it's very sad, but I've not dared write it down for fear of depressing myself. If I ever manage to do a few more interviews, I'll get to my ending.**


	18. Touch me Feel me

**\- As a firm believer that every story idea that could ever be come up with, has been come up with, and that those of us who continue to scribble are simply trying to use them in unique situations, with varying levels of success, I cheerfully steal from everyone**

 **\- On a totally unrelated note, I've been rewatching Team 4Star's Hellsing Ultimate Abridged. Not sure why I would include such an not related to the topic at all sort of trivia, but there you go.**

Hermione Granger sat on the stone steps of the old abandoned church with her father's hunting rifle across her lap and staring at the rifle.

Behind her, inside the closed doors gunshots rang out. She tried to ignore them, while telling herself that this situation had never been her idea, all the while knowing that it had been.

"Hermione!" Harry called out from inside the church, punctuating his call with another gunshot. "You've got to get in here!"

"There's about 50 inferiuses in here!" Ron added. "And when you shoot them with the gums they just sort of explode. It's hilarious."

"Inferi, Ron," Hermione corrected, "a group of Inferius are called Inferi. And the weapon is called a 'gun'."

"Hermione, seriously, you need to get in here," Harry called out again, "Hurry before there aren't any left!"

"All right," she sighed, rising to her feet and pushing the door open. Inside she found Harry and Ron, each holding a weapons similar to her own and gesturing to the shambling horde slowly advancing on them.

Hermione was fully aware that an inferius was nothing more than soulless, mindless, animated flesh, and that destroying them was a blessing. But the idea of killing someone, even someone who was already dead just didn't sit right with her.

"I know this needs to be done," she said shouldering the weapon the way her father had taught her, aiming carefully so that the round would likely pass through the first inferius and eliminate the one behind it as well. "But I don't see why you too are enjoying it so much."

She squeezed the trigger, watching at the heads explode as her round hit. Hermione gasped as a massive orgasm hit her, her eyes widening, "Oh, fucking YES!"

"Told you," Ron laughed as he lined up his next shot.

Hermione chambered and fired the next round, then the next and the next. Somehow the rush never dimmed. Soon she was out of ammunition, ignoring the two boys, she waded into the remaining inferi swinging the rifle like a club. In less than a minute the only things still moving in the old church were a panting Hermione Granger and two terrified boys.

"I told you she was scarey," Ron said.

 **\- Yeah, this isn't ever going anywhere, but the idea of Hermione in the midst of a orgasmic blood rage just tickled me.**


End file.
